Peace Was Never An Option
by cheekyrox
Summary: First Class AU-Because the way Cuba ended, no matter how horrific, wasn't the worst of the possible outcomes.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: This fanfic was written for the sole purpose of getting it out of my head (which is never a good idea, because removing one just makes more room for a half a dozen more) and it is only fair to warn all readers that it was completed in less than a week. With that in mind, I apologize in advance for any OOCness or if any of the events portrayed seem rushed. I didn't really take the time to flesh anything out, I just wrote what came to mind, so just apply a no guarantees policy and you should be right. The story _is_ finished, and subsequent chapters will be posted as I revise them.

**Warning**: AUness, probable smudging of creator's intentions for characters, shameless befuddling of timelines, and other nefarious author acts. Other than that, nothing too drastic.

**Summary**: AU "Peace was never an option."-Because the way Cuba ended, no matter how horrific, wasn't the worst of the possible outcomes.

***Skip to here if you are bored***

**Quote: **"All you really need to know for the moment is that the universe is a lot more complicated than you might think, even if you start from a position of thinking it's pretty damn complicated in the first place."

― Douglas Adams

**/Prologue\**

**-Fall Into The Darkness-**

"They're just following orders."

The words were a mistake.

He knew that the moment they left his lips, when the expression of the man beside him morphed from indecisiveness to cold immovability, the change obvious, even if half hidden behind the helmet adorning his head. Chances were he wouldn't have uttered them at all had he had the time to stop and think, had exhaustion and the buzzing in the back of his mind not so wholly clouded his judgment, his equilibrium still in tatters, mental shields barely holding in place as his own emotions churned and twisted, trying to process too much all at once. He could not remember a time before now that he had felt so wholly and utterly _drained_, his fatigue both physical and not, to the point where it was taking a great deal of his concentration just to remain upright.

"_Tell me I'm wrong." _

Erik had challenged him, forcing him to face the betrayal of those they had been trying so desperately to save, a betrayal he had been so certain would never happen. A betrayal that had, in truth, merely come as an addition to one already made.

"_Not if we stop a war. Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so." _

Their actions, it seemed, didn't matter in the long run. Their lives had been declared forfeit, but _not_ by the men on those ships. The decision _had_ been made, but not by them. He could sense their fear right now, even without trying to, their trepidation leeching through his battered defenses, but that was all it was. _Just_ fear, awe in some, a hint of curiosity in others, coupled and mixed with confusion in all. The hatred Erik had predicted had not formed, however, not yet, for, despite everything, these men had been given no reason to hate them. But that could change in a matter of seconds, change with a simple flick of Erik's wrist, and Charles feared he had just wasted his sole chance to prevent it.

"I've been at the mercy of men just following orders."

_No. Please, no. _Icy blue eyes focused on his face, hard, unrelenting, and he was groping blindly, helpless to find the right words without being able to touch his friend's mind, to at least partially map out the emotions driving this mad act of genocide. _Not like this, Erik. Not. Like. This! _But his thoughts bounced back at him, his desperation never making it past the smooth surface of the helmet.

"Never again."

A thrust of the metal manipulator's hand was all it took, and the missiles were moving again, rocketing through the air, hastening towards their goal, ready to steal the lives of those who had set them loose in the first place.

"Erik, release them!"

The command in his voice was amplified by the panic radiating across the water with enough force he was surprised the others did not feel it, but his words went ignored, the other man not even registering he had ever spoken, intent on his mission in a way that was terrifying to behold. The missiles did not stop, the dread pulsing from Russian and American vessels alike, and, robbed of his words, of his influence over the mind, Charles resorted to the solution of physical violence he so ardently tried to avoid.

"_No_!" Even as he raced forward, throwing himself at Erik out of sheer desperation, he knew this was a confrontation he had no hope of winning. The man he was tackling to the ground was a trained killer, who did not rely on his powers alone to carry out the deed, whilst he himself was a scholar, lacking both the strength and the training he would have needed to come out of this tussle the victor. But he didn't _need_ to win. If he could just _distract_ Erik for long enough those missiles would never survive to cause the damage they threatened to. Surprise was on his side for a moment only, as his hands groped for the helmet, knowing if he could only get rid of _that_ he might still be able to avert this calamity.

"I don't want to hurt you!" The elbow that caught him in the side of the head belied that statement, and he fell back against the sand with a stunned cry, well aware of the snarl in Erik's voice as he moved to pin Charles in place with a hand about the telepath's throat. "Don't make me!"

He _felt_ more than saw the others move forward to intervene, heard the unbridled rage in Erik's barked command to 'Stay back!' as he raised a hand, hurling all but Raven away, out of reach, exacerbating wounds that already existed. But Charles did not have time to feel concern for any of them, his hands still fumbling for that blinding helmet, trying to gain a purchase despite the long fingers coming just short of strangling him.

"No! That's _enough_!" But Erik merely raised his other hand, forcing the faltering missiles back onto their unwavering course, a course that inevitably led to destruction, the decimation of all his hopes and dreams in a single instant. "Erik, stop!"

Unable to reach his original target, he moved both hands lower, thrusting against the arm holding him in place, and feeling a single moment of exhilarating triumph when Erik lost his hold. The other mutant didn't miss a beat, however, merely drawing his hand back and delivering a vicious punch that snapped Charles' head to the side and made his vision waver and warp, black spots clouding his eyesight. And then Erik was standing, rising, moving away from him to ensure the projectiles reached their goal. He sensed Moira emerging from the plane's hollow remains, willed her not to try the half formed idea in her mind, knowing she would do so anyway, and knowing, just as surely, that it wouldn't stop Erik.

He rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up on shaking arms, hoping, more than believing, he would be able to keep his footing once he was standing. He heard the first muted shot from Moira's handgun, and a moment later saw the object whipping out of her hands and flying out of reach, Erik barely flinching in his single minded focus.

"Stop, Erik! _Please_…"

Staggering upright, one hand outstretched towards his friend, Charles turned, hoping enough of the missiles had detonated during his and Erik's struggle to at least save _some _lives, and knowing, even before his eyes were seared by the image of the roaring inferno, that that hope was groundless. The sea before him was becoming the stage for the most destructive act he had ever seen perpetrated by a single man, and he couldn't do anything but _watch_. Time froze. He drew in a ragged breath, felt the last of his fragile hope drain away with the tide.

And then the pain struck.

Ruthless in its intensity, boundless in its immensity, it tore its way savagely through his mind without remorse, breaking down the fragile barriers he was only barely holding in place to begin with. Forming a crescendo of wailing voices the thoughts and emotions came, belonging to hundreds, to _thousands_, and he was without the means to ward them off, robbed of the ability to halt the onslaught the moment it began.

The strangled cry that wormed its way free of his constricted throat was both his own and not, for, whilst a small portion of the sheer agony reverberating through both his mind and body was his, the majority of it was not, and he was overwhelmed by the sheer _volume_ of pain. Shock. Fear. He could no more differentiate the emotions from one another than he could separate the last thoughts of the dying from his own, and he was scarcely aware of his knees folding beneath him as his hands lifted to cradle his head, hoping the physical movement could achieve what the mental will could not.

Time unfroze, but it was not moving as swiftly as before, a single moment dragged out across eternity, and, whilst it lasted, the pain stayed, clinging to his side like a shadow, and worming its way past every last defense he had. His head had been aching before this, already echoing the torment of another's mind, but the pulsing, _living_ thing that had taken up residence in his skull now was so much worse it was a wonder he was not screaming himself hoarse. Or maybe pain had made him mute? It was an errant thought, and swiftly forgotten as another tremor wracked his body, his limbs twitching spasmodically, receptive nerves mimicking the gestures of dying men as his brain transmitted messages it had not made itself.

Someone touched him, a hand grasping his shoulder that he could barely feel, a worried, familiar face joining the blur before his eyes, but he could no more react to the sudden presence nearby than he could tune out the resonating remains of those so far away, separated in body by so much water, but close enough in mind that they may as well have been standing side by side.

Someone spoke, the concern and worry in their, _her_, _Moira's_ words transmitted through the air as emotions to add to the barrage already battering against his last vestiges of control. She was _scared_, he recognized the fact distantly, and he thought the panicked, anxious query may have revolved around him, but his mind was still too busy trying to react to the rush of external stimuli to try taking in any words. Raven responded for him anyway, muttering something about telepaths, as if that explained everything and anything that was in doubt. And maybe it did.

He was too lost in his own distress to really know one way or another.

Ignoring, for the moment, the hands now resting on either side of his face, and the pleading voice trying to awaken a reaction from him, he let his consciousness drift, retreating back within his head, back into a realm of pain, terror, and a lingering sense of betrayal he wasn't quite yet certain should be there. What had brought him here no longer mattered, he merely needed to find a way to escape, and that meant sifting through all these emotions, the feelings that were still bombarding him, even though the source of their existence was most likely long gone, in the hopes of finding himself among the wreckage that was all that remained of others.

With his concentration focused so wholly inwards, he did not even notice when his body became limp, nor did he register the cries of alarm that arose around him when he pitched to the fore, hands reaching to catch him, but only one voice piercing through the void.

"Charles!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **So a big thank you to all of those who favorited/reviewed the prologue for this self indulgent rambling. I don't think I've ever had such a big reaction to the first chapter of any story, so maybe I should ramble more often. Also, in response to ChocolateShadow's question, there are twelve chapters all told (roughly 33,000 words), including the prologue, which I will most likely post at a rate of two chapters per day until it's all done to give me time to revise/adjust any content as I see fit.

**Quote: "**Anger is the enemy of non-violence and pride is a monster that swallows it up"-**Mohandas Gandhi**

**/Chapter 1\**

**-Mutant and Proud-**

_This is wrong_.

The thought throbbed into existence within her mind, pulsing in synchrony with her beating heart, and Raven knew, with every ounce of her being, that it was _true_. This _was_ wrong. They shouldn't do this. This wouldn't solve anything. But, despite _knowing_, she found herself unable to move, unable to so much as take another step forward. The others were still picking themselves up from where Erik had so harshly thrown them when they sought to intervene, and Charles was dragging himself to his feet, unsteady, exhausted, weakened by whatever had occurred to draw that scream of anguish from him earlier, and still doing more than any of them to try and stop this.

She watched the missiles race along their newly ordained path, saw, out of the corner of her eye, the moment when Moira emerged from the remains of the plane, gun in hand, intent on stopping a massacre, and watched with the same sense of awed detachment as Erik barely spared a moment to toss the flimsy, _metal_ instrument out of her hands and beyond her reach. She witnessed the moment when cold realization robbed her brother's face of whatever color had remained there, watched as he drew in a breath sharply, one hand lifting in a last, desperate plea for mercy on the behalf of those who had so recently tried to kill them all, and saw the moment when he realized his words had gone ignored.

It was all she had time to see, before the looming, metal shapes dotting the horizon burst alight into clouds of smoke and flame, the explosions rattling off one after another, too close together to distinguish where one ended and the next began. The ground seemed to rumble beneath her feet, even though she knew that wasn't possible, for this…this _monstrosity_ was taking place over what was soon to become a watery grave, and she could not help but wonder, in a sort of dazed stupor, how much evidence would be left in the wake of this wanton destruction.

It was not until Charles' screamed that her body and mind finally started back to life again, and the moment she was made cognizant she was instantly assaulted with a wave of feelings she knew were not her own, but were nearly enough to bring her crashing to her knees regardless, projected upon them all by a telepath who no longer had strength enough to shield them from his own powers. Fighting the urge to crawl into a hole and just _hide_ until this maelstrom passed she managed to hold her ground, surging forward on instinct, moving before she was even aware of herself, making a beeline for Charles' side.

He was on his knees by the time she reached him, and hands that had been cradling his head had dropped limply into his lap, pale, blue eyes staring sightlessly out of an ashen face, their gaze going through and beyond her, not registering her presence, even when she laid a hand upon his arm.

"Charles?" He was frightening her, and she moved her grip from his shoulder, crouching before him, cupping his face with both hands, trying not to flinch when she found his skin clammy and cold to the touch. She willed those eyes to just _focus_, to _see_, to realize it was _over_, projecting that desire in her thoughts as strongly as she could, and hoping it would reach him. "Charles?"

"What's wrong with him?" Moira sounded shaken, terrified even, probably still reeling from the aftershock of that single, telepathic pulse, but her worry had overcome her fear, and she was hovering close by, clearly uncertain as to whether or not she should join Raven or stay well away.

"He's a telepath."

It wasn't an answer, but at the same time it was, so wholly complete she didn't feel the need to back it up with a secondary statement. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, the simultaneous gift and curse that was her brother's mutation. He was fortunate, and she had always envied him in that regard, that his unique talents were not accompanied by a visible manifestation, but, just as he was guilty of not understanding her own struggles with _her_ mutation, she was just as blameworthy in ignoring the repercussions of _his_.

Because Charles _was_ a telepath, and it made him _empathic_ to others when no one else could see a reason to be. She had accused him of wanting to be a part of the world no matter how bad it became, the truth was he didn't have a _choice_. He would _always_ be a part of the world around him, never able to fully withdraw from it, and that point was driven home with shocking clarity by the image now before her.

"Charles, _please."_ Those eyes were still sightless, beholding something she was blind to, and it _terrified _her. "You're _scaring_ me."

His body hitched, his breath seeming to stutter in his chest, but it was not in response to her words, and she had only a moment to react before he was tumbling forward, the weight of his body almost sending her sprawling in the sand, though she was quick enough to rearrange herself, catching his head against her shoulder. The worried noises of those around her rose in volume, but she ignored them for the moment, her own desperate cry ringing in her ears.

"Charles!"

He didn't move, or even stir, remaining limp in her arms, though the reassuring warmth of his breath tickled intermittently against her throat. Her arms closed about him in a protective embrace, and she simply held him there, trying to stop her own breath from hitching as she fought back tears. She didn't know what she had expected to emerge from today's battle, she wasn't even sure if she had formed _any_ expectations, but, for some reason, the words she had uttered to Hank the night before came to mind, and she closed her eyes against the weight of reality pressing down upon her shoulders.

Mutant and proud, she had told him, teetering on the brink of acceptance, torn two ways at once, between the desire to be normal, and the lingering suspicion that to be _normal_ was not truly what she wished for, what she _should_ wish for.

_Mutant and proud_.

But, how? She wondered with bitter grief, tightening her hold on the evidence resting lifelessly against her chest. How was she supposed to be proud of _this_? What had they accomplished today, truly? They had averted nuclear war, it was true, but thousands of lives had still been lost, and what had it gained them, besides more fear, more intolerance, perhaps even _hatred_? The world may not have accepted them, it may have turned on them, tried to destroy them, but there would be no second chances now, she knew. The humans had played their hand, and, now, so had _they_, and there was no turning back from the brink of oblivion.

"Raven?"

It was Hank hovering above her, his concern, for her, for them _both_, readily evident on his face, even in this form, his _true_ form. There were so many questions wound up in that one word, so many uncertainties, some she herself was feeling, others his alone. But she didn't have the answers for him, the reassurances he needed, because it was Charles who always had the answers. Except, Charles was the one now lying in her arms, damaged and maybe even _broken_ by what had happened here today, and she didn't know how to fix that either. So she merely gazed up at him, her face open and vulnerable, and her words uttered with a sense of weary desperation.

"I want to go home."

He hesitated, and she realized, her spirits sinking even lower with the revelation, that even that request would be almost impossible to fulfill. The plane was destroyed, beyond repair, unsalvageable, and, even if by some miracle the soldiers could have been convinced to aid them, there was no help to be found from that quarter now either. They were alone here, in a place that might have been beautiful under any other circumstances, and once more she found herself fighting the urge to cry.

Charles shivered against her, emitting a soft whimper that was only half muffled by the fabric of her jumpsuit, and her insides twisted, her hold tightening instinctively as she raised one hand to stroke through his hair, trying to offer reassurance in a way that would reach him, that would break through the wall holding her out.

Hank was crouched beside her now, one hand resting on her shoulder, his worried gaze flickering between her and her brother. Moira was on her other side, both near and not, the uncertainty and concern she was feeling clear to see on her face. Sean and Alex had also made it across to them now, the latter supporting the former, and Erik was…

"Raven."

She lifted her head when he spoke, meeting him eye to eye, and it was not until he flinched slightly that she realized how baleful her expression must be, the sudden fury blossoming in her mind a surprise even to her. _This isn't his fault_. She tried to tell herself, tried to disperse the unsettling weight of anger forming in her chest, but her heart would not believe her mind, and she was not even sure her mind was _right_.

Charles had asked him, _begged_ him to stop, and Erik had ignored every last word, had _struck_ the telepath rather than let his vengeance go unsatisfied. This _was_ his fault, but glaring at him now was not solving their predicament, and she forced herself to keep her tone civil as she spoke.

"What?"

He waved a hand wordlessly in the direction of Shaw's followers, and Raven realized with a start that the trio had drawn closer, standing just far enough off to keep the illusion of distance, but far too close for her liking. But it was not _all_ of them to whom Erik was pointing, and Raven's gaze fell unwittingly upon the teleporter, a small spark of hope flaring to life within her chest.

"Azazel has agreed to transport us away from here."

It was tempting, _oh_ it was _so_ tempting, to just accept that offer at face value, but not even her ardent desire to be away from this place, to be somewhere _safe_, was enough to distract her from the flaws in that statement.

"Azazel?" She turned away from the trio, fixing her gaze back on Erik. "He was trying to kill us all a few moments ago!"

"Do you have a better idea?" he snapped at her, and the spark of annoyance that flickered through his eyes was not missed. But there was something else there, too, something that closely resembled genuine anxiety on Charles' behalf, and Raven was not so far gone as to be blind to the fact it _was_ genuine. Even if it _was_ his fault, the damage caused had not been intentional.

"No," she responded at last, breathing the word out as a sigh. "No, I don't. But we won't go straight home." She fixed him with a pointed look, hoping it was as firm as she wished it to be. "Its _ours_, not _theirs_."

"Of course."

He did not argue the point, merely making a curt, beckoning gesture with his hand, drawing the teleporter and his two companions forward to join the huddled group. Raven tried not to flinch when the red mutant laid a hand on her shoulder, closing her eyes, and reassuring herself by taking a firmer hold on her brother's lax, trembling form.

A moment later the beach was deserted, leaving nothing but smoking wreckage behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Quote: **"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."-Walter Winchell

**/Chapter 2\**

**-Where Do We Go From Here?-**

They had been back in the Xavier mansion for almost twelve hours before Charles stopped trembling. Before unflinching, pale-blue eyes finally broke their unchanging stare to slide closed, and breath that had not stopped hitching since the beach evened out into some resemblance of regularity. Moira, whose shift it had been at the time, nearly collapsed out of her chair in relief, relaxing for the first time since that wave of emotion had struck her near senseless on the beach.

To witness the tragedy that had occurred there had been heartbreaking enough, without being forced to experience the final moments of all the men who had died, and _she_ had only felt a small snippet of that, not the continuing agony that had only now released Charles from its grip. Even now, resting quietly at last, the pale, drawn look about the telepath's face told a story more eloquent than words could form, more painful than memory could provide, and Moira tried with all her being not to imagine what Charles had been experiencing right up until a few bare seconds ago.

They had all been given time to sleep a little after their return to the estate, but she doubted she was the only one who had frittered that time away lying on her back, staring at the expansive ceiling, worrying over everything and anything all at once, and wondering when the world had become so dark and frightening. The somber mood currently hanging over the mansion was a direct contrast to the air of hope and contentment that had filled it for the past week, and it was that change, above all, that Moira found painful, because it was a sign, a forewarning, of what changes were taking place outside the safety of this haven.

What Erik had done on the beach had altered everything, altered it beyond restoration, beyond what even Charles could hope to undo. There had been enough doubts aired about the wisdom of allowing mutants such freedom of movement before any of this happened, now the campaign would be far more aggressive, perhaps even violent. There would be no demarcation, no differential judgment, because Erik had already provided the basis upon which they would _all_ now be judged. There would be no clean slate, and the pacifists such as Charles would find themselves thrown into the same cage as monsters like Shaw.

It was not a cheerful thought.

But what was she to do about it? To be perfectly honest, her role in the events of the past few weeks had been minor, at best. She had _found_ Charles and Raven, and she had not really left the group following the discovery that mutants _did_, in fact, exist, but she hadn't actually _done_ anything. Relegated to the back seat in a battle that was beyond her _human_ skills to fight she had done nothing but watch as events unfolded around her, and now, when she needed so desperately to find some way of dealing with the aftermath, she found herself just as helpless as she had been before.

She couldn't offer these people protection, because she didn't have the strength or the influence to actually provide it. She didn't have a safe house, or anything similar to the Xavier mansion, where they might hide should this location be compromised, and she certainly didn't have the strategical smarts to be able to think her way out of this mess. At best she could provide them with an inside line into the CIA, if not through herself, then through the contacts she had with the organization. At worst she would simply get in their way, but, either way, she couldn't actually _help_ them.

Sighing tiredly in defeat, she scrubbed at her eyes, before shifting her gaze up to the clock on the wall. Twelve hours. That was all it had been, slightly more, if one counted the start of the mission, she supposed. Twelve hours, in which the situation had spiraled wildly out of control, undoing everything they had worked so hard to achieve. Nuclear war had been averted, despite the destruction of both fleets, but only because _both_ sides now had a new enemy upon which to focus their rage. An enemy whose ability to defend themselves still remained in doubt, for, powers or not, there was no denying the mutants were vastly outnumbered.

The creak of the door behind her opening broke through her pensive daze, and she glanced up wearily, forcing a smile onto her face as Hank shuffled into the room. The young scientist had surprised her somewhat by taking the mantle of leader upon his shoulders the moment they were back in familiar territory. He had organized them transport back to the mansion, indirectly, of course, seeing as there was no way he could be seen in public right now, and had successfully brought them all safely home, avoiding any confrontations, and even preventing the internal hemorrhaging that was threatening to destroy the suddenly fragile bonds of their group. Charles' absence had been painfully obvious in the strained, angry silences that would normally have been calmed with a few words or a gentle, mental touch, but Hank had stepped up to the plate on that count too, not allowing the tension to develop into anything worse than a few short words.

He had been the one to take the first two-hour shift, insisting Raven, _and_ everyone else, get some much needed rest, and she suspected he had remained awake and nearby during Erik's shift as well. Though none of them expected the magnetic mutant to do anything that might further harm Charles, the trust that had once existed between and among them was tentative now at best, and had they not all been so weary and overwrought already more questions might have been raised about leaving Erik alone with the telepath for any extended period of time. Hank, however, did not tire as easily as the rest of them, and she suspected what time _had_ been spent in his own lab had been spent doing something other than sleeping.

"Hey," she greeted him hoarsely, trying not to let her tiredness bleed through any more than it already had. "He's asleep, I think."

"Finally!" Hank shared her relief, it seemed, not that she was at all surprised. It had been disconcerting to see Charles lying there, eyes open, unblinking, unseeing, whilst his form twitched and shook and his mind remained unaware of their constant vigil. As it was, however, that was the only sign the scientist gave of what reassurances he had taken from the fact, before moving on to another member of the household. "You'd better let Raven know on your way to bed." There was a suggestion implanted firmly in that sentence that Moira had no desire to ignore, though its presence alone brought a tiny ghost of a smile to her mind, if not her lips. "Maybe then she'll sleep."

"I don't think anyone is doing much sleeping tonight." Now that it came down to it, Moira found she didn't want to leave the room just yet, finding comfort in the more natural slumber of their charge. "Too much has happened."

"I know." Moving with surprising grace across the room, Hank drew up a chair on the opposite side of the bed, sparing Charles a brief glance to reaffirm Moira's diagnosis, before focusing his attention back on her. "And some of it hasn't even stopped yet. I'm guessing both governments are still in shock over this, but we can't afford to take the time to get our bearings."

"What do you mean?" An edge of unease wormed its way through her fatigued mind, awakening thoughts that had been dulled by the need for sleep, and bringing her focus back from the blurry brink of exhaustion. "Hank?"

"I took some time to contact some people I know in the CIA, people I think…I _hope_ we can trust. They wanted to know what happened, of course, so I told them as much of the truth as I thought was safe, just to get them to help, you understand." Clasping his hands before him, the mutant gazed at her through his glasses in search of approval, their presence alone evidence he had been working, not resting, though she could not grant him what he asked for, not yet certain what it was he had done. "They're going to try and retrieve the copies of the printouts from Cerebro that were sent to HQ," he continued after a brief pause. "Before someone else thinks to find them."

"I hadn't thought of that." Moira stiffened in her chair, ignoring the way her tired muscles protested against the movement. "Most of the information we gathered on the mutants was destroyed when the department was, but there are things in my files at the main office we probably don't want being seen, too."

"I can have someone look into that if you want, or maybe you have someone you can call?" Hank suggested immediately. "It's best if we move as quickly as possible, before _they_ do."

"You're right." Moira was already half way to her feet. "I'll have someone get the files right away. What are you having your contact do with the printouts?"

"I asked him to destroy them." Hank shrugged, dismissive of the amount of information they would lose. "It's too dangerous trying to send them here, and if we sent them somewhere else it's possible they would get picked up before we could find them. The typewriter ribbons, on the other hand…Most people won't think of them right away, given that they were stored in the department Shaw destroyed, and they may not have even survived Cerebro's destruction, but I sent someone to check on that as well. If we can retrieve them we can at least salvage _some_ of those coordinates."

"Is that where Erik is right now?" Hank looked at her in surprise, and Moira tried to seem nonchalant as she shrugged slightly. "I checked his room on my way down. It was empty."

"Yeah, he's gone. I thought it was better to give him something productive to do before something else got broken." Moira didn't ask, and he didn't elaborate. "Besides, I don't think Azazel would have taken _me_ there."

"I'm surprised those three stayed at all," Moira admitted, frowning as she considered the trio they had last seen settling into a hotel a goodly distance from their current location. "With Shaw gone, I expected them to disappear."

"Erik said something to them," Hank informed her. "I don't know what, but whatever it was kept them in line, and seems to still be doing so, for the time being. Besides, there's nothing much we can do about them or anything else from here, and I'm not sure I want to. They _may_ have worked for Shaw, but sending them away right now would be like killing them ourselves. I know they're all powerful mutants, and most likely fully capable of taking care of themselves, but, I don't know, it doesn't seem right, somehow. I'm sure we'll have a better idea of where we stand when the Professor recovers."

"I hope so." _When, not if. _Moira marked the choice of words, and was grateful for them. "I'm sorry to admit I'm at a loss. I don't think I'm going to be much of a help to you guys."

"You're helping right now, Moira, just by being here." Hank's offer of reassurance was tentative, reminding her he was still new to this, and not at all certain in his role. "After everything that's happened, nobody would have blamed you for leaving."

"I couldn't leave," she shrugged. N_ot with Charles like this_. "I'm a part of this, Hank, and you and everyone else in this house are my friends. I'm not going to walk out on you. I want to see this through."

"It's not that simple, though, is it?" Hank sighed, his chest expanding with the movement. "Nothing is simple anymore."

"I don't think it ever was," she admitted quietly. "It's just gotten even _more_ complicated now."

"You're probably right." Hank's tone was a mixture between faint amusement and weary resignation. "But, there really _isn't_ anything we can do about it now, besides making sure we're rested and ready for whatever comes next."

"Don't worry, Dr. McCoy." Smiling, she rose the rest of the way to her feet. "I'll get my prescribed dosage of sleep, just as soon as I've taken care of those files. Do you want some breakfast before I go to bed?"

"I've already eaten." He was pulling some plans out of the interior pocket of his lab coat, and the response was distracted, a slight wave of one clawed hand. "Thanks, though."

Moira simply nodded, throwing one, last, lingering look over the blessedly quiet form in the bed, before turning for the door, pausing only long enough to wish the mutant scientist goodnight. There were tracks that needed to be covered, after all, and she wasn't about to let Charles Xavier pay the price for another man's sins.

**1st Class**

Stepping outside her brother's room an hour short of noon, Raven found herself freezing in place, one hand still resting on the doorknob, when she came face to face with the last person she was prepared to meet. Momentarily taken aback, she took a moment to regain her mental bearings, before demanding, on no uncertain terms, answers.

"Where have you _been_?"

"Taking care of a threat." His response was neutral enough to match his expression, but cautious too, she recognized that, and took some satisfaction in knowing he was not at all sure of his standing with her. He _should_ have been, she thought pointedly. Had her glare not been telling enough?

"Oh," she responded aloud, tone airily pleasant, and entirely false. "Did you refrain from killing everyone this time?"

"Raven…" he paused having uttered her name, and the slight trace of annoyance in his words did not mask his inability to formulate an answer to that question, because it wasn't _really_ a question about what he had been doing recently at all. Instead, he chose to change the subject, and Raven could not help but acknowledge that, though there was safer territory he could have ventured into, he _chose_ to nod his head towards the door behind her. "How is he?"

"Better." She wouldn't lie, even if she didn't feel he _deserved_ an answer to that, still too angry to worry about _his_ side of the story. "Not well, but better."

"I didn't know, Raven." It wasn't an excuse, exactly, more of an apology, but she bristled anyway.

"But you _should_ have."

"Probably."

"He asked you to stop."

"I know."

"And you _hit _him."

He winced, and, suddenly, she couldn't stop herself, taking two steps forward so she was standing right before him, ignoring the differences in height as she all but shouted in his face.

"Why, Erik?" she challenged him furiously. "Why couldn't you just _stop_? What was so…so _damn_ important about destroying those ships that you had to _beat_ him just because he tried to stand in your way? It wasn't just those men he was trying to save; it was _you_, me, and every other mutant in this world. Why couldn't you just _listen_?"

He didn't answer her, instead simply standing, meeting her gaze without hesitation, and leaving her to tremble with concealed fury, grief, and shock, all warring for dominance inside her mind. And in that moment when she crumbled, falling against his chest and letting the sobs she had been suppressing for hours escape through her lips, she very nearly hated herself for her weakness, for not being strong enough to hold onto that anger, to _make_ herself stop caring for this man now holding her tentatively in loose arms. But it wasn't enough to _want_ to hate him, because she didn't, and she tried desperately to ignore the voice in the back of her head that told her this was betrayal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **So a big thank you goes out to incredibly helpful Niralle for telling me how to fix up my quotation quandary. I've adjusted all chapters accordingly now (I hope), so all is well. This next chapter was actually the forming scene of the entire story, so I hope it continues to meet expectations.

**Quote: ****"**How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it."-**Marcus Aurelius**

**/Chapter 3\**

**-What Seeds We Have Sown-**

He drifted in and out of awareness, sometimes lingering close to the surface, only to shy away at the faintest echoes of remembered desolation, sometimes sailing deep within the dark recesses of his mind, cushioned by a blanket of sweet nothingness that gave him the time, the chance he so desperately needed to simply _exist_ without demand upon his person. At times he was almost conscious of his surroundings. Voices would filter down into the void, a brief touch, a cool hand resting against his brow, or stroking absently through his hair.

So he knew, to some extent, that there were two presences that lingered near him more often than any others. Two voices, telling in their higher pitch, which spoke to him in his dreams with more regularity than their masculine counterparts. That fact did not surprise him, and he was too adrift to know whether or not it should, but he knew for a certainty that their presence was a comfort whenever he emerged far enough from his shell to be aware of them.

Most of the time, though, he held onto his solitude, onto the blankness of the canvas he had made for himself. It wasn't cowardice, really, because he wasn't even sure what he was hiding from anymore, that knowledge locked away into the part of his mind he was so desperately trying to ignore, but sometimes a trace of disquiet would resonate through his awareness, and he would know, deep down within his very core, that he was _afraid_ to face this.

A rare admission, perhaps, because there were few things he feared that he had not chosen to face, at one time or another, even if some fears he confronted only in a hypothetical sense, he _still _braved them out. So he was afraid of finding out what had made him so afraid? Probably. Even if he wasn't sure whether or not that sentence made any sense. Still, this was his mind, so it didn't _have_ to make sense. Sometimes, though, the thought occurred to him that a little order would not go astray.

And so he drifted, meandering his way from point to point, navigating the stormy seas of his own mental landscape, and trying to avoid the tempest he knew awaited him. Every once in a while a brief trace of physical pain would remind him that this was not _all_ in his head, that his skills sometimes had unwelcome side affects on his more material side, and that having a coin driven through one's skull, even second hand, was an incredibly painful experience.

Too late did he realize his mistake in going down that particular road, and he backpedaled swiftly, diving down the next avenue that presented itself, and blinking in sluggish surprise when the comforting darkness gave way to muted, evening sunlight, his soundless realm opening up into the noises of twilight nature. The soft drone of a young woman's voice overlaid it all, rising and falling as she read aloud, her words disturbed only by the occasional turning of the pages.

He inhaled slowly, letting the air fill his lungs, and, at the same time, ever so slowly expanded the bounds of his mental reach beyond the taut lock and key he had maintained thus far. His head still ached with a vehemence that was mildly distracting, but it was a pain that was manageable for the moment, and he did not allow it to deter him from gently probing at his surroundings. There were several presences nearby that he recognized, but his senses were still too foggy to pick out any individual minds save one, and that belonged to the young woman sitting at his bedside, as of yet unaware of his newly conscious state.

He could have brushed against the edge of her consciousness to remedy that, but something within him recoiled from doing so, half formed reasons he did not want to examine forming in the back of his mind. Crushing them for the moment, he turned his head slowly, cautiously, so as to not ignite the potentially agonizing sensation lingering threateningly inside his skull, until his eyes successfully fell upon his sole companion, the word that left his lips more of a parched croak than the soft query he had aspired to achieve.

"Raven?"

"Charles!" She stiffened immediately, going almost ramrod straight for just a brief second, before the book fell to the floor forgotten and she was leaning over him, stark relief shining clearly in her amber gaze. "You're awake! How do you feel?"

It took him a moment to realize the feelings overwhelming him were not his own, and another to re-erect the shields that had shattered when…_No! Do _not_ go there. Not yet_…that had been shattered, and by that time Raven's relief was beginning to morph into concern.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound terribly reassuring, even to himself, so he was not surprised when she frowned. "Really, Raven, I'm…Where _are_ we?"

It occurred to him suddenly that this wasn't where his brief foray into the land of blissful unawareness had begun, but he _did_ recognize his surroundings, which could only mean…

"We're home." Apparently satisfied that he wasn't in any immediate danger of dying, Raven settled back into her chair, absent mindedly retrieving her book from the floor, and stroking her long, thin, blue fingers along the cover. "The teleporter brought us here. Well, not here _here_, because we couldn't show him where this place was, but near enough that we could come the rest of the way on our own. It was the only way off the beach, because the plane was broken, and, well…"

She shrugged, apparently running out of things to say, but Charles wasn't listening anymore anyway, his thoughts having ground to a halt the moment the word 'beach' was uttered, and his memory finally saw fit to fill in the blanks.

_Terror. Pain. Anger. A vengeance fulfilled, but the price paid not deemed great enough. Betrayal, one way, and then the other, and himself caught in the middle, feeling the emotions of both sides, too weakened to block either out, and trying to find the right words to avert calamity through all the garbled confusion in his mind. Growing horror, his own and others, when he realized he had failed, when _they_ realized _they_ had failed. And then death._

_So _much_ death._

"Breathe, Charles, breathe!"

Raven's voice sliced through his mounting panic, providing the lifeline he needed to grope his way back to reality, pale and shaking, nearly as affected by the memory as he had been by the event itself. So many, _many_ lives thrown away in the name of revenge that wasn't even truly against them, but against a memory, a past that could not be changed. Innocent lives torn apart, the families they left behind shattered, leaving a hollow void behind he _knew_ would be filled by resentment, grief, anger, and, inevitably, _hatred_. It was a nightmare, and yet it _wasn't_, because this_ had_ happened, and Charles had no idea, not even the slightest inkling, of how to fix it.

Raven had seated herself on the mattress beside him, one hand pressed against his shoulder, grounding him in the present, and the other on his brow, as though she sought to steady his mind through her cool touch alone. So far she had remained silent, allowing him the time to gather his thoughts, to come to grips with reality, though how he was supposed to do either was beyond him. His head was throbbing again, and it was more than just a distraction now, but he still did not have the time to focus on it.

"The others. Hank, Banshee, Moira…Is everyone…?"

"They're all fine." Raven did not question his venture into safer, more neutral territory, almost seeming relieved by it, in fact. "A few bumps and bruises, but nothing that won't heal on its own. To be honest, we've all been more worried about _you_. You look terrible, Charles."

Her words were pointed, and the look she gave him was equally so. Smothering a sigh, he cautiously edged himself out from beneath her hold and into a sitting position, ignoring the spike of pain in his temples as he met her gaze on more level ground.

"Better?"

"Not really." She shook her head, too somber to engage in any banter right now. "Charles, what happened on the beach…You know Erik never meant to hurt you, right?"

_Not me, Raven, just thousands of others, who had committed no crime greater than being human_. _He couldn't even satisfy himself by targeting only the flagships. All those lives…destroyed in a moment._

"He didn't know it would affect you like that." She was persistent, almost as though she was trying to convince not just him, but _herself_ as well, and he dragged his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. "None of us did."

"I know."

And he _did_ know. He knew that, despite the cloud of hazy anger that had blinded Erik to all but his own needs and desires, the other man had never meant to actually _harm_ him. The fact remained, on the other hand, that Erik _had_, and he wasn't just talking about his battered mind. That sense of betrayal was still lingering in amongst all his other jumbled thoughts, formed when Erik first placed that helmet upon his head, and compounded by the bloodied coin and destructive missiles that had followed.

Erik had accused him of being too blind to see the humans would turn on them, and his words had been proven correct, if not prophetic, but Charles had also missed something else in his naivety, and that oversight was far more painful. He had not thought his friend capable of such ruthless slaughter. Oh, he knew Erik had killed before, certainly, having witnessed more than enough of that in the man's memories, but to see him turn to such genocide as a solution, as an _answer_, when _he_ had been on the receiving end of treatment much the same…He hadn't thought Erik capable of that, and it hurt, more than he could even begin to put into words, to be proved so utterly and completely wrong.

"But it doesn't change what he did, does it?" Raven's voice was small and lost, the tremor that lingered there barely audible as she tried to hold her emotions in check.

He was not the only one reeling from this, then. In fact, if he stretched his mind beyond the boundaries of this room the air of restlessness hanging over the mansion was quite easily discernible. It was not a pleasant feeling, and neither was the pain utilizing his powers in even that small fashion caused, so he swiftly withdrew within himself, allowing her words to sink through the haze threatening to cloud his thoughts once again. Knowing Erik hadn't meant to hurt _him_ didn't change anything, she was right, because the intention had still been there to kill others.

"I'm afraid not."

He sighed, unable to offer any more words in response, because he honestly did not know what he was going to do about this. His natural instinct was to try and heal whatever had been harmed, to correct whatever wrongs had been done, but he didn't think this situation _could_ be salvaged. How did one pick through the pieces of over a thousand broken lives in search of a single beacon of hope he wasn't even sure existed to begin with? The repercussions of this event were going to be immense, and it was quite possible Erik had, however unintentionally, sealed the fate of all mutants.

"Is Moira here?" He frowned, weary mind already running over the dangers that needed to be dealt with promptly to ensure their safety in the immediate future. Moira had been good to them so far, as much a symbol of the tolerance of humanity as the missiles fired on them had been a sign of the exact opposite, but even she must be having second thoughts after witnessing _that_. He didn't think she would betray their location to anyone who might mean them harm, but he had been proven wrong twice already, what was a third time?

"She never left." Raven's words soothed both his fears for their safety and his wavering confidence in his own judgment, but did very little for the steady throb now in permanent residence inside his head. "She wanted to talk to you first. Nobody's really gone anywhere since, well..." she shrugged, trying to smooth over her own hesitation by forging onwards as if it had never happened. "Not even Shaw's followers. It isn't safe. Not when the CIA knows who we are."

That could prove problematic, Charles knew, because, whilst changing names if necessary was an easy enough task, not all of them had the luxury of changing forms, and even his own powers would only go so far in keeping them hidden. There were others, too, mutants who would now be in danger, the targets of a witch-hunt, and the CIA already armed with the locations of many of them. That was another thing he would have to fix as soon as possible, or perhaps Moira could do something about it.

He wasn't aware he had lifted a hand to massage his forehead until the sudden, added flood of further anxiety washed over him, and he glanced up to see Raven frowning again.

"We shouldn't be talking about this right now," she stated tersely, rising to her feet so abruptly he had to jerk an arm out to keep himself from tipping sideways as his support was so unexpectedly torn away. "You need rest."

"I'm fine, Raven…"

"You're _not_ fine! _This _isn't fine." Her voice was cracking, and, though she suppressed it, he could still pick up on the faint echoes of distress she was projecting. "You were _sick_, Charles, it's been two days, and everyone was worrying and everything was just happening all at once. I didn't know _what_ to do, but I had to do something, before everyone started fighting and…and I needed you, but you weren't fine, you were…were…"

"Raven, I'm here now." He sent a small sliver of comfort in her direction, doing his best not to grimace at the wholly disproportional wave of agony that small gesture caused. "I'm sorry I left you in that situation, but…"

"I don't _want_ you to apologize!" she cut him off immediately, anger coloring her words, but that anger bled away swiftly, replaced by a softer tone, heavy with remorse and worry. "It wasn't your fault. It _isn't_ your fault. But I need you to get better now. I need you to be there, knowing what to do, because I _don't_." _That makes two of us, Raven. _"I'll get you something for your headache, and then you'll rest. Please, Charles?"

He nodded wearily, unable to summon the energy to offer either a verbal or mental response, uncertain which of the two would cause him the most pain at the moment, watching in silence as she swiftly left the room. His nerves were still screaming from the memory of pain that was not his own, but the discomfort they caused, along with the pulsing ache in his head he had not tried to deny was there, were both pushed aside in favor of the growing ache in his chest, which he somehow knew was not at all due to a physical affliction.

They had successfully averted one war at great cost to themselves, only to turn around and immediately begin another. But this was a war he was not at all certain they could win, and, deeply embedded in both his heart and mind, was the frightening realization that he was not at all certain they _should_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note/Rambling: **Writing the personalities of side characters is something of a challenge for me, because, let's face it. The sole purpose of the other characters in the movie, aside from Hank and Raven, was either to die, swallow a ball of energy, destroy the bunker beneath Charles' house, be pushed off a satellite, or run off to join forces with a certifiable madman. Unless you're already working for said madman, in which case looking evil pretty much covers your job description, provided your not Miss Emma Frost, whose name _is_ her job description. Oh, and let's not forget the all rounder skill of looking awesome for the final battle. Other than that, characterization was pretty shallow, so work with me.

**Q****uote: "**Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair."- **Friedrich Schiller**

**/Chapter 4\**

**-Concerns-**

"He's awake."

Raven did not pause to make the announcement, casting the words over her shoulder to those seated about the kitchen table as she made her way to the sink, succeeding in keeping her hands steady with an effort as she poured a glass of water, before rummaging through the cupboards in search of some pain killers. It had been hard to admit aloud the fears that had plagued her for the past couple of days, and not simply because she had been trying to deny they were there, but because she didn't really want to add anything more to her brother's already overwhelmed mind. He had said nothing about being in pain, but the pinched expression on his face, not to mention the sheer lack of color in his visage, had been telling enough all on its own.

He was hurting, and she honestly didn't know how to deal with that.

Physical wounds she could deal with, she had tended to them before, and they _were_ a fact of life, mutant _or_ human. But the damage done here had not been physical, even if the mental strain had been great enough to cause a physical symptom, and she had no way of knowing how deep an impact the events in Cuba had made upon his psyche. That the pain had been twofold, _thousand-fold_ what it would have been had he only had his own emotions to deal with only worsened matters, and now here she was, immediately thrusting all their problems upon him and expecting him to make them right.

Cursing her own weakness, she finally grasped a hold of the elusive analgesic, turning around and freezing in her tracks as she realized all eyes were upon her, clearly waiting for an additional statement to follow up on her earlier proclamation. But she didn't know what to tell them. '_Charles will be fine'_? How could she say that when she wasn't at all sure of it? What else was there, really, to offer? He was _awake_. It was an improvement, but the rest of her diagnosis would have to wait until he had slept and looked marginally better than the wraith he appeared as now. Thankfully, for the umpteenth time in the past forty-eight hours, it was Hank who came to her rescue.

"Go on up, Raven. We'll see him when he's feeling better."

A double layered statement, both a stern warning to the others not to pry, and a reassurance to her that Charles _would_ feel better. She threw him a wan smile, all the gratitude she could muster for the moment, before fleeing the kitchen, wondering, not for the first time in the past few days, when her world had become so damn complicated.

**1st Class**

He should have been relieved.

Charles was awake. It was good news. Better than good news, actually, because seeing the telepath like that, eyes open but unseeing, lying wracked by spasms for so long, had been far too reminiscent of his memories of death for comfort. Not that he had been allowed to see much of Charles beyond that first two hour shift, no more than a few minutes at a time before Raven or Moira, whichever of the pair happened to be in the room at the time he entered it, finally grew restless enough with his presence that he made his excuses and found something else with which to employ his time. They never actually _said_ anything, of course, but the accusation, in Raven's case particularly, was a tangible thing that did not need words to make it any more real.

Raven, at least, had taken the time to say all that needed to be said on the matter.

And he did admit, to a certain degree, that he deserved some of that resentment, that protective anger manifesting, not only in the two women, but Hank, and Sean, and Alex too. He hadn't _known_ what an affect his actions would have on Charles, because the telepath never really took the time to explain his own powers and their unique brand of repercussions, too wound up in teaching all of them how to control _theirs_, but he _had_ ignored Charles' frantic attempts to stop him, going so far as to physically restrain the smaller man in a somewhat brutal fashion.

Flexing his right hand absentmindedly, he forcefully repressed the memory of driving that same fist into his friend's face, though locking the one away only gave more room to the others clamoring for his attention. Out of all those gathered on the beach, he had been the only one not to suffer from the backlash of telepathic power that the others had spoken of, a side effect, and a minor one at that, to the inordinate amount of trauma Charles had been going through.

At the time he had been grateful for it, because it had left him clearheaded enough to respond to Raven's broken request, to coerce Azazel with minimum difficulty into taking them as near the mansion as could be safely risked, when everyone else had still been reeling under the brief force of so many lives stricken from the world all at once. At the time he had been grateful, but now? Now he almost wished he _had_ experienced it, if only so as to put Charles' experience in Cuba into some sort of perspective.

He _hadn't_ known, and he hadn't meant to cause harm to the first true friend he had had since Shaw invaded his life, but the fact remained that he _had_. He might have felt guilty for that, had he not known full well that it was not the pain he had caused Charles personally that would place the greatest strain on their friendship. Because, for all his naivety, for all his arrogant belief in his own righteousness, for all that he could see the wrongs done to others, Charles was incredibly lenient when it came to offenses against himself.

No, it would not be what he had done to Charles, but what he had done to those ships, to the men aboard them, and even to Shaw. _Those_ would be the things responsible for forming the rift he could already sense growing between them. Which was nonsensical, really, because he was quite certain Charles had more pressing matters on his mind right now than the most likely ruined remnants of their bond. A bond that had formed in the collision of rage against serenity, anger against calm, hatred against compassion, and had shattered just as easily in the face of an irrepressible need for vengeance.

What was it Charles had said to him that night, during yet another game of chess, as they both faced the enormity of what was yet to come? _"Killing Shaw will not bring you peace." _Well, he had ignored those words, and the hidden plea behind them that was Charles so desperately trying to pull him back from a brink only he could see, because Erik had been blind to it until he plunged headlong over the edge.

He did_ not_ regret killing Shaw, and he did not regret killing the men aboard those ships, men who had fired first, and given him just cause to vent his anger, his fury at the world in general. Because, dammit, _killing_ Shaw had not been enough. He did not regret either act, both had been justified in his mind, but there was a feeling of unease forming in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that was quite possibly remorse, remorse for the fact he had only now realized the full, far reaching consequences of his actions. He had announced war on mankind, and, in doing so, he had drawn every mutant, right down to the last child, into a battle very few, if any, of them were prepared for.

_That_ he regretted, with genuine contrition, but _only_ that.

But none of that explained, really, why his relief at Charles' recovery was mixed so firmly with apprehension. Or maybe it did. Charles was an understanding person, empathic to the point of immersion, and Erik wasn't sure whether that trait was because of, or simply enhanced by, the telepathy. But even Charles had to have limits, boundaries, a point where understanding ceased and censure began. Shaw, for example. Charles had never condoned Shaw in any form, never tried to understand him as he had tried to understand the other mutants, so there was a line drawn somewhere, clearly, and Erik could not help but wonder which side of that line he now stood on.

He tried not to consider how desperately he wanted to be on the _right_ side.

**1st Class**

Hank watched the mannequin burst into flames, the rings of energy having impacted directly in the middle of the 'X' taped to the dummy's torso, and gave a short nod of satisfaction, confident the plate Havoc had lost during the battle in Cuba had been replaced with a perfect replica. It hadn't taken him long to repair the suit, with the designs already on hand, and Banshee's had been restored even quicker, but, up until now, none of them had been in much of a mood for experimenting with their powers.

It could have been due to the fact they were all still recovering from the shock of recent events. Banshee had only just stopped limping, after all, and he knew the cut on his own cheek was still healing over, but, in truth, the physical wounds were hardly the most lasting. It could have been due to the recollection it had been a mutant's powers that killed all those men, many, _most_ of them innocent of anything but doing their jobs, and a hesitance to employ their own gifts knowing they could wreak similar devastation. It could have been any of those things, but, whilst he was aware of their existence, a lingering pressure in the back of his mind that now and again gave up their lurking wait to simply _demand_ his attention, Hank knew it wasn't _any_ of them responsible for their hesitation to reengage in their training.

In all honesty, it had just seemed _wrong_ to do this without Charles, and, to a lesser degree, Erik. Both men had been instrumental in the younger mutants learning to control their separate gifts, one through the use of patience, persistence, and, in Hank's case, a good number of philosophical quotations, and the other through a more brutal, but no less effective, regime. With Charles dead to the world, and Erik avoiding them almost as ardently as _they_ avoided _him_, the sense of balance that had once existed had been well and truly disrupted, and it had taken them this long, along with the added encouragement of Charles' recovery, to brave any return to their old schedule.

Of course, the fact they were all burning off a good deal of frustration through destroying things did absolutely no harm either.

"_Wicked_!" Banshee offered with a little too much enthusiasm, surveying the burnt remains of Havoc's latest victim. "But, come on, this is hardly a challenge! It's not even moving! I'll bet you can't hit one if it's flying!"

"Well, yeah, idiot. Mannequins _can't_ fly."

"What if I dropped one while _I_ was flying?"

Seeing the look of consideration on Havoc's face, Hank decided now was as good a time as any to bring this idea to a halt. "I don't think the Professor would approve of us scorching the landscape."

"He wouldn't have to know," Banshee suggested hopefully, and Hank was thankful Havoc appeared to have held onto his senses sufficiently to see the serious flaw in that statement.

"Except, of course, when he looked out the window."

"Like he's going to care anyway." The youngest mutant gave a snort. "We all know he'll have bigger things to worry about."

And just like that, Hank thought mournfully, the light mood was gone as reality inevitably wormed its way back into their lives, bringing with it a ringing, weighted silence. Not even Banshee, its cause, seemed inclined to break it, and it was not until Alex made an offhand comment that any of them managed to escape their darkening thoughts.

"You know, I've been thinking."

Banshee grinned, "Shall we make note of the time?"

"Oh, knock it off!" Havoc cut him off without any real force. "This is _serious_."

"Go on, Alex." Hank chose not to use their new titles when speaking aloud, feeling the names were far more appropriate for a battle situation than everyday conversation. "What's on your mind?" He winced then, wondering if he had just given the other mutant an opening for yet another joke, but, to his relief, and simultaneous dismay, Alex was perfectly sober in his response.

"The Professor," he explained simply. "And Magneto. Or Erik, whatever."

"What about them?" Sean sounded hesitant to broach this subject, and Hank didn't blame him, for it certainly wasn't among his favorites either. That said, Alex was right to bring it up, because this was something they needed to sort out between themselves _before_ it became an issue between the two individuals it involved.

"That just about sums it up, doesn't it?" Alex's expression was grim. "_What_ about them? You know we've all been tiptoeing around this…this, uh, what's the word you used before, Hank?"

"Imbroglio."

"Yeah, that. We've been all tiptoeing around it, trying not to set each other off, but, seriously, we all know the Professor isn't going to."

"Well, it's not exactly as if we can keep ignoring it forever," Hank pointed out practically, at the same time realizing this wasn't exactly where Alex was going with his side of the argument. "And the Professor'll know how best to deal with this."

None of _them_ knew how to 'handle' Erik, _that_ was for sure.

"Yeah, I know." Alex gave his hand an impatient wave, clearly annoyed they weren't yet seeing the deeper meaning behind this conversation. "But doesn't that worry you guys at all? I mean, look what happened the last time he tried to 'deal with' it."

Hank frowned, his mind flashing back to the moment on the beach when Erik's intent had become clear to them all, when the Professor had sought to intervene, and how little aid they had been able to offer on that front. He had been so fixated on the results of the events in Cuba that he had forgotten most of the actions that precluded them, and now he joined the others in frowning in discontent.

"Aw, come on, guys!" Sean tried to disagree, even though it was clear he was merely doing so because he wasn't sure what else to do. "That was an intense situation. You don't seriously think they'd, uh, fight like that here?"

"I don't think any of us knows _what_ the hell Magneto might do," Alex shrugged. "And you can't tell me I'm the only one that fact worries."

"Well, actually, I hadn't thought about it until now," Sean grumbled, but Hank merely gave a reluctant nod.

"I hate to say it." He breathed out a sigh. "But I am finding it hard to trust him."

"Well, yeah," Alex snorted. "The guy's a megalomaniac mutant _and _homicidal on an _extreme_ scale."

"They _did_ kinda fire at us first, though," Sean pointed out somewhat feebly, knowing it wasn't justification enough for any of them.

"Whatever. That's not the issue here." Alex drew their wavering attention back to the focus of this discussion. "The Professor. Magneto. What are we going to do about it?"

"The only thing we can do, I suppose." Hank exhaled heavily, spreading his large hands to signal their lack of options. "Don't leave them alone."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **The spelling of Erik's last name in this chapter was taken directly from the movie credits, so whilst not entirely canon with other sources, it is correct for First Class. Also, thanks to plexi24, my unanimous reviewer, for taking the time to leave a few kind words. Like always, all reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Quote: **"A mistake is always forgivable, rarely excusable and always unacceptable."-Robert Fripp

**/Chapter 5\**

**-A Question of Trust-**

Waking up for the second time was no less painful than the first, and, had he not known that _someone_ else, most likely Raven, was lingering in the room, he would have groaned aloud. As it was, however, he simply stifled the sound, rolling over slowly to face the presence he so clearly sensed, but was still too disoriented to put a name to yet, only to blink in surprise when he recognized his current 'sitter', the rasping note to his voice less obvious this morning, but still irritatingly present.

"Hank?"

"Oh!" Turning his attention away from the diagram-like plans in his hands, Hank offered him a tentative smile, the genuine warmth behind the gesture not at all spoiled by the less than human face it adorned. "Good morning, Professor."

_Good_ morning? Well, that was a diagnosis he had yet to confirm, but Hank didn't need to know that, so instead he merely made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, edging himself upright with even more care than he had the evening before, he _hoped_ it was only the evening before, and smoothly changing the subject. "Where's Raven?"

"Still in bed, I hope." A preoccupied frown masked the beast mutant's face. "She stayed up half the night, but fell asleep in this chair. Actually, I think Alex might have put something in her drink."

"If you have any sort of regard for his wellbeing, I wouldn't tell _her_ that."

"She'll probably figure it out on her own, anyway, Professor." Hank's spirits seemed buoyed by his ability to make a joke, Charles just wished he could share the enthusiasm. His prolonged rest period had done nothing to ease his headache, and extending his abilities at all right now was an experience far too painful to warrant risking. He did not know how long this backlash effect would last, but, for the sake of his own sanity, he hoped it was not long. He couldn't shut off his telepathy completely, however, no matter how much he might wish to, and the steady hum of unease that had been there the night before still throbbed in the air around him, matching each pulse of agony that threaded its way through his skull. "It might be a good outlet, actually. She's been needing to hit something for a couple of days now."

And wasn't that an obtuse statement? Charles didn't have the energy to try and figure out the hidden meaning behind the words, his thoughts drifting off along other tangents, resisting all his efforts to focus them. There were things that needed to be done, he recalled vaguely, _important_ things, if his mind would just stay in one place long enough for him to remember what they were.

"Raven said you were asking about Moira." Hank, apparently disconcerted by the elongated silence, broke it, providing a point for Charles to hone in on, forcing his thoughts to remain in one place. "And the CIA. I just thought you'd like to know we're already covered on that front. We destroyed the files they had, surreptitiously, of course, and we even managed to retrieve most of the typewriter ribbons from Cerebro. What was left of them, anyway. I'm afraid most of them were too damaged to recover any information from, but there might still be a few sets of coordinates we can retrieve whilst I set about rebuilding everything. Apart from wiping their minds of us completely, there isn't much more we can do to cover our tracks."

"That's good work, Hank, thank you." Wiping their minds might still be necessary, of course, but Charles seriously doubted his ability to do anything so drastic at the moment. For now, however, their location was secure, and it would remain that way for a little while yet. "Wait, rebuilding?"

"Yeah," Hank nodded, his eagerness transmitted just as easily by his facial expression as it would have been by his mind, had Charles not firmly locked his powers away as far as they would go. "I was waiting for your permission, but, with all the underground passageways this place has, I could easily recreate Cerebro here. It would help in tracking down the rest of the mutants we found, before the CIA finds some way of restoring their records. Which they _will _do, eventually."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea to create something that permanent here." Charles weighed the pros and cons of that suggestion, knowing Hank was probably right about the CIA only being stalled. "We don't know how long we'll be able to stay."

"Well..." Hank hesitated, seeming suddenly unsure of himself, a trait that would have been amusing upon his otherwise imposing features at any other time. "It _is_ built it out of metal."

Charles couldn't find the words to answer that, by no means ready to go down that particular road yet. Instead he simply closed his eyes, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and barely holding back a sigh when Hank traversed the unwanted path regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

"He made things a whole lot worse than they would have been, you know? Before…before we had a _chance_ at being accepted, but he's ruined it all. The way things are now…It's going to be hard just to stay alive." Hank paused, and Charles prayed for him to just stop there, to go no further, because, for heaven's sake!, he wasn't _ready_ to deal with this yet. Unfortunately, disabling his mental projections meant Hank wasn't going to hear that little snippet of wishful thinking, and the scientist did not pause long before proceeding with his monologue. "I'm not saying he should leave, not exactly. We're all in equal danger now, and I suppose that means we have to stick together, but he _can't_ keep on doing that sort of thing. It isn't going to earn us anything, unless you count an early death, and it certainly isn't going to promote tolerance."

"I know." He had to say something, if only to stop Hank from continuing, from airing thoughts he would much rather have ignored for the time being, thank you very much. "I'll talk to him."

"Actually, Professor." Hank surprised him by not accepting that consolation prize. "I was thinking we _all_ should."

That…didn't make any sense, and he opened his eyes to simply stare at the other mutant. "I'm sorry?"

"I…" he stammered for only a moment, before regaining his nerve and continuing with the confidence he seemed to have grown steadily over the past week. "I'm asking you not to speak with him alone…Please?"

"Why?" It wasn't his most eloquent speech ever, but this was hardly an easy conversation to have when in full possession of his mental faculties, let alone now, with his head throbbing fit to burst and his powers tampered down to their lowest possible strength.

"Because I think we _all_ need to know how he's going to react to these types of situations, in the advent something like this happens again. We all need to know first hand what kind of a person we're teamed up with, and, quite frankly, Professor, I don't think anyone in this household feels comfortable with leaving the two of you alone in a room for long."

"Hank…" This time he couldn't hold back a sigh, realizing, for the first time, that he was no longer alone in his deep concerns over Erik's morals in a pinch, though deeming him an unsafe companion for Charles seemed a little overboard. "He didn't mean for _this._" He gestured vaguely at himself."To happen."

"And the concussion he most likely gave you?" Hank challenged him, the growl in his throat clearly audible, reminding Charles that his headache may not, in fact, be solely due to his powers. He wondered, somewhat absently, if Erik's blows had left bruises. "He _meant _that."

"He wasn't thinking clearly."

"He _hit_ you!"

"I got between him and his target, I don't think he was lucid enough to realize anything beyond that."

"Are you _defending _him?" The tone of his voice was very close to outrage, Charles noted with mild interest, his focus wavering again, before coming back full circle.

"Probably. I don't know. Was I?" If he sounded as dazed as he felt, Hank probably had good reason for the look of concern that had overridden his obvious disbelief, leaning forward in his chair slightly as he attempted to hold Charles' gaze, looking into eyes the telepath strongly suspected, with the distant air of an observer, were glazed.

"Professor?"

He supposed he'd actually earned that moniker now, though could one be counted as a teacher when the students failed to learn? When the lessons he attempted to impart were forgotten when it came to the crunch? He had taught Alex control, and helped Sean on his way to flying, even aided Hank in uncovering his unrealized potential. But what were those successes, when compared against the staggering failure that was Erik Lensherr? He hadn't been able to undo the work of Sebastian Shaw, hadn't been able to unravel the knots of anger and hatred tied by that man, so, in truth, the events on the beach were partly his fault as well. He was a telepath, for crying out loud! He should have been able to find the words, he should have been able to prevent this, he should have…

"…ssor? _Charles_!"

Jerked from the downward spiral of his innermost thoughts by the utterance of his given name, he gradually became aware of the fact his breathing had quickened, his heart rate having accelerated to match the pattern of his respiration. This new habit of losing himself in his own thoughts was becoming disturbing, and not just to himself, he realized ruefully, offering Hank, who had not yet released his almost uncomfortably strong grip on Charles' shoulder, an apologetic smile.

"Sorry."

"Are you all right, Professor?" _Apparently_, an apology alone was not enough of a reassurance when you spaced out for more than a minute for no apparent reason in the middle of a conversation. Actually, upon further consideration, that was a pretty valid point. And he should probably answer that question some time before eternity came knocking, just as soon as his mind started connecting the right points.

"Why do I get the distinct feeling you're not going to believe me even if I say 'yes'?"

"Probably because you know how terrible you'd look in a mirror right now," Hank responded smoothly, removing his firm grasp and settling back down in his chair. "Are you sure you shouldn't still be sleeping or something?"

"Forty-eight hours is more than adequate, thank you." The words had a clipped note to them as a sudden resentment at being coddled formed in his mind, more as a vent for pained frustration than because he actually had the energy to mind right now.

"I'm not sure Raven would agree." Hank still seemed unsure. "Though, to avoid the risk of her sounding like a hypocrite, I won't wake her to have her say so in person. Do you want something to eat?"

"To eat?" All this subject hopping was making it that much harder to keep track of where the conversation was going. "I suppose. Provided there _is_ actually something edible in the house. _But_, I _am_ perfectly capable of coming downstairs."

"Well, Raven actually instructed me not to let you leave this room, but I suppose I can compromise." He paused, only _pretending _to think for that brief moment, Charles was sure. Hank knew full well what it was he wanted before he even stopped to think about it. "I'll let you come down, if you promise me you'll tell us when you're going to speak with Erik."

"Or I could just stay here." That was overly petulant, he knew, but giving in immediately just seemed far too weak.

"_Professor_."

"I don't know why you bother calling me that, when you're clearly set on ignoring every word I say," he groused good naturedly, affecting a long, drawn out sigh. "_Fine_. I agree." When Hank still didn't move, he found himself biting back a bout of laughter he wasn't quite sure would have been free of hysteria, partly because he didn't want to give Hank any further reasons to confine him to his room, (and wasn't that ridiculous, when this was _his_ house?), and partly because he knew any such action at this time would _hurt_. "I _promise_ I'll tell you when I intend to speak with Erik."

"Thank you." Hank's gratitude was so sincere he almost felt guilty for his own childishness, though that same gratitude bled away into concern when he swayed upon first regaining his feet. "Are you sure you should be standing?"

"No, actually." There was no point in lying when the truth was so painfully obvious. "But I'm not staying in bed, either. Go wake Raven, Hank, she'll chew you out less if you tell her your breaking her rules."

And he could really use something less conspicuous than the beast mutant to lean on when he needed to tackle the stairs. Whether or not Hank knew that second reason was up for debate, but he went without argument, and Charles turned wearily to go in search of some clothing less stale than that he was now wearing.

After all, there was no need to go downstairs _looking_ as terrible as he _felt_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Quote: **"A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love."-Stendhal

**/Chapter 6\**

**-Breakfast Discussions-**

"Charles!"

Moira's greeting was warm, infused by her genuine relief at seeing the telepath awake and apparently feeling better, and only slightly dampened by her shock at his appearance. Though he had clearly made an effort to make himself more presentable, not even the meticulous tidiness of his clothes could hide the shockingly pale hue of his face, or the cautiousness to all his movements that suggested he was not so wholly recovered as they were meant to believe.

Tactfully choosing to say nothing on the matter, the others kept watch in their own ways, and Moira's was not the only pair of eyes to track the telepath's every movement, ready to intervene should the need arise. Not that such a thing was likely to occur, because Raven had adhered herself to her brother's side, giving no indication at all that she had any intentions of moving any time soon, and Hank was also hovering with little subtlety. She couldn't really fault them for that, because she was tempted to do much the same herself.

It was strange, and more than a little disconcerting, to see this fragile shell in the place of the vibrant presence they were all used to, and Moira was sure it was not her lack of mutant gifts alone that caused the marked absence of the usual projection of reassurances that would normally have come in response to the worry they were all surely leeching into the air. But Charles did not reach out to her, or any of the others, if their expressions were any indication, not even in passing, and the mental silence was almost as unsettling as the lack of life reflected back at them through vacant, blue eyes.

Both were, she hoped fervently, symptoms that would pass with time.

"Moira," he greeted her with a wan smile, taking a seat at the table beside Alex, who had oh-so-subtly hooked a chair out with his foot before the Professor even approached it. "So you are the reason no one has yet died from food poisoning."

She smiled in spite of herself, and was immediately met with a lively protest from both Alex and Sean, which was swiftly silenced by a reminder from Raven of some unnamable incident that had taken place during the week spent at the Xavier Estate prior to Cuba. Moira herself had not played witness to that particular culinary disaster, but Raven's vivid description was enough to make her shudder, though the small smile that played across Charles' lips was more than enough recompense for the horrid mental imagery.

Allowing the conversation to proceed without her, confident the rest of the group was fully able of providing the distraction Charles so obviously needed, Moira contented herself with completing the simple breakfast she had been in the middle of concocting. The first _real_ meal any of them had paused long enough to enjoy since the events of two days prior. Before now, food had been consumed at odd hours and normally in its uncooked form, so the omelets she now served each of them in turn was a sign of the return to normalcy, or as much of one as could be found right now.

Smacking her own plate down on the table opposite Charles, Moira allowed her gaze to travel slowly around the gathered assortment of individuals, marveling, not for the first time, at the amount of growth that had occurred in these youngsters. They had gone from mutants in hiding to a special division of the CIA, albeit an untrained one, to a small group of individuals undergoing an intense week of preparation in readiness for a battle they were fortunate to have emerged from unscathed. And yet, despite all the changes that occurred so rapidly in their lives, or perhaps _because _of them, they had pulled together with a sense of unity that was inspiring to one such as herself, all too aware of the lack of cooperation one often ran up against when working with colleagues in a fairly competitive profession.

She hadn't made a great many friends within the CIA, at least, not in the same field as she herself worked, and it was a refreshing experience to see these people, outcasts to the rest of the world, so ready to support one another when it came down to the line. It would have been a beautiful example of solidarity, had not that ever present shadow of knowledge clouded it, the knowledge of what had _caused_ this, what they were all still trying to avoid.

What was made impossible to ignore by the habitual absence of one of their own.

Breakfast passed without advent, the subject matter kept light, revolving mostly around the possession of cuisine skills, or lack thereof. Moira kept herself busy playing chef, ensuring all of them, Charles especially, consumed a healthy serving, well aware they had all been skimping on nourishment of late. As a result of this self appointed task, the morning meal rolled by with her having barely uttered a word, and Moira doubted it was coincidence that, by the time she had cleared all the plates away and set them aside ready for washing, a task Hank had insisted she was not to do after having already gone through the trouble of cooking for them all, Charles was the only one remaining at the table. Even Raven was gone, and Moira took the opportunity for what it was, not hesitating before retaking her seat directly across from him.

"I wasn't sure you would stay."

It wasn't the opening line she had been expecting, but she could understand the reason the words had been uttered.

"I couldn't leave," she repeated the words she had told to Hank, meaning them just as much now as she had then, and letting her conviction show. "I'm too much a part of this now, Charles."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't." He wouldn't meet her gaze, his eyes fixed instead on his laced fingers resting on the table, and there was a note of defeat to his voice she flinched upon hearing. "You don't have to be a part of this, Moira." He chanced a glance up at her then, and she could easily see the concern reflected in his eyes. "You have a chance to walk away. You should take it."

She did have that chance, she realized. The chance to leave all of this, to abandon the people she had come to know so well in such a short period of time. She had been on that beach with them, it was true, but she had tried to stop Erik from carrying out his destructive act, and she _wasn't_ a mutant. In all likelihood, should she turn her back on all of them now, she would be accepted back into the fold, her knowledge of mutants confirming her position beyond all doubt. Except, she couldn't help but remember…

"I was on that beach too, Charles." She _had_ been there, and they had fired anyway. It was an insult she was not ready to so easily turn a blind eye to, and, on top of that, it gave her a ready excuse when the truth was not something she was yet ready to air. "I may not agree with what Erik did, but, in one thing, he _was_ right. They _did_ fire first. Even after you, and every one of the others, did your utmost to _save_ them."

"It wasn't their decision."

"Maybe not, but orders _can_ be disobeyed when you _know_ they are wrong, and they _had_ to know what they were doing was a mistake."

He studied her intently for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her words, before a soft smile flashed fleetingly across his visage. "Are you trying to tell me I can't make you leave?"

"In a roundabout manner, I suppose I am." She returned the smile, inordinately pleased by its presence. "I'm not going to abandon you now, Charles, any of you. I pulled you into this, it's my responsibility to get you out."

"You don't owe me anything, Moira." His response was mild, its follow-up tinged with a faint sense of amusement. "It's not like you dragged me into this kicking and screaming."

"Maybe not, but I still feel partially responsible," she acknowledged his point with a brief nod. "I'm not going anywhere, Charles, and don't even _think_ about wiping my mind."

"Honestly?" he winced. "Right now, I don't think I'm capable of it."

"You mean your powers are…?" Alarmed, she straightened in her chair.

"Temporarily disabled, I'm afraid." The statement was matter of fact, the shrug that accompanied it unconcerned, and Moira was certain both were faked. "I expect they'll return with time."

"You _expect_? Charles!"

"This has never happened to me before." He spread his hands apologetically. "Not with such severity, anyway. Try not to worry, Moira, it'll most likely heal itself with time." There wasn't really anything to be said in response to that, so she let the matter lie for the time being, allowing him to change the subject. "I must thank you, too. Hank tells me you've already been helping in securing our location."

"It was the least I could do." And she meant that fervently, with every fiber of her being. "They're going to hunt you down, Charles, and that isn't right. You've done nothing wrong."

"Fundamentally, neither has Erik," he sighed. "Given the time to discuss this in a rational manner, it would be difficult for them to prove anything Erik did was more than self defense. Those ships hadn't fired everything, they could have attacked again. I, personally, don't believe they _would_ have, but they could."

"You still don't condone his actions," Moira pointed out, knowing it for the fact it was.

"I do not," he agreed succinctly. "But that is more a matter of personal belief than anything else. I do not believe in violence as a solution, Moira, I never have, and I doubt I ever shall. I admit it is necessary sometimes, and there _are_ some men who forfeit the right to live of their own volition, but it is still something I feel is best avoided. Violence begets violence, and it is a cycle that is inherently difficult to disrupt."

"So, then." She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts, before marching onwards. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing, for the time being, at least." She could not tell whether his grimace was one of frustration or pain, though she suspected it was a mixture of both. "Until Hank reproduces those printouts I have no leads to follow, and wandering around haphazardly trying to find other mutants would surely do more harm than good. There is nothing that _can_ be done right now, so we must wait, and be patient, and hope the cost of this delay is not as high as it potentially could be."

"You intend to bring the mutants back here, then?" she probed, glad to have something to focus on, if only because it was driving the vague, empty look from the telepath's eyes, and leaving something more solid in its place.

"We _are_ safe here, for now," he nodded pensively. "Though, how long that will last I cannot say. I fear a more permanent solution may need to be sought, a place where we are well hidden. This place is a little…prominent?"

"You could say that," she grinned lightly, and he returned the gesture, before plowing onwards, the light in his eyes speculative now.

"So, then, we will need to research alternative hide outs, and prepare plans to be implemented should we ever need to evacuate the Estate in a hurry. There are tunnels enough below us, and more could be added without too much trouble. We will also need some form of early warning system, beyond my own powers, that is."

"It sounds to me like there is plenty to do even _without_ those printouts," Moira observed thoughtfully. "Are you sure we're going to be able to manage?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, and she instantly regretted uttering the words aloud when she saw the doubt invading his mind, hesitation forming where there had once been none. "I honestly don't know."

He sighed, propping one elbow on the table, and resting his chin in his palm, the fingers of his other hand drumming an erratic beat on the wooden surface as his gaze grew distant and pensive. The quiet between them swelled, and stretched on for so long Moira was on the verge of breaking it when he finally snapped out of his trance, words heavy in a way they had never been before.

"Maybe you're right," he murmured softly. "Maybe it is too much. Too lofty a goal. It's possible I'll end up doing more harm than good if I try. In fact, this could be the worst idea I've had yet. Gathering mutants in one place...It is just as likely to bring risk as security, giving our enemies a clear target, somewhere they can strike knowing they will do a lot of damage. There are so few of us, so very few, how can we possibly hope to defend ourselves if it comes down to a confrontation?"

"Charles. Charles, that's not what I meant."

She couldn't let this go on any longer, couldn't let him dash his hopes and dreams to pieces on the pavement, leaving nothing but the sharp and broken shards of his own heart behind. Charles had held on to faith during those weeks before Cuba, clinging to it with a tenacity none of the rest of them had been able to match. His determination, sprouting from a different source than Erik's, but no less vehement for its kinder origins, had pulled them all within the sphere of his own unwavering belief, holding them together through the horror of Darwin's death, and everything that had surrounded that occurrence.

He had seen the danger they had not, refusing to let them fall into the easy trap of vengeance Erik had offered as motivation. Darwin had been _avenged_, but, by the end of that week here on the Estate, revenge had not been what compelled those youngsters to fight. They had been given something else, something with more meaning, something they could fight for without relying on anger and vengefulness to give them strength. Charles had shown them that there was hope for their future, hope for a world where mutants could exist without fear, a future that was worth fighting for, even if the odds stacked against them. Even now, though that future was clouded, hope still existed, except, the man sitting before her now, the one to have never before abandoned it, had lost sight of that dream.

"Haven't we already proven that strength in numbers is not what matters?" She reached across the table, stilling his drumming fingers as she placed her hand atop his, his pale, blue eyes affixing themselves on her own, displaying a vulnerability she had never thought to see on his face. "_Everything_ we achieved here we achieved because we had the inner strength, the _united_ strength to push onwards even when it seemed like there was no point. What matters is not how many of us there are, or how strong we might be. What matters, what will determine whether or not we succeed, will be how far we are willing to go to make sure this doesn't fail."

"It's not that simple, though, Moira." His tone was hushed as his eyes slid away from her own, retreating from her, though she wasn't about to let that happen without a fight.

"Yes, it is," she insisted. "_I_ believe you can do this, Charles, and so does everyone else."

She caught his stunned gaze and held it, forcing every ounce of the confidence she felt to sound loud and clear in her words, willing to be the support he so clearly needed right now. There were many things she could have said, so many things that could have flowed from heart to mouth and sat so heavily between them. But now was not the time for that, there would be opportunity enough later, besides, she knew what she needed to say, knew that the easiest way to make him believe lay in ten simple words. Words that held little meaning on their own, but that together, uttered with the absolute faith he had shown her existed, held more weight than anything else ever could.

"Just let me know what I can do to help."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Okay, confrontation time! I've lost count of the number of times I've reread/revised this chapter, and I'm still not entirely convinced I've got it quite right. So much of the story and characterization revolves around this conversation, so it was important to make it as near perfect as I could. Whether or not I succeeded on that count is up to the readers to decide, though. Seriously, subtle hinting aside, all comments, good or bad, are appreciated. Oh, and today's Author's Note cameo goes to medi22, this story's sixth reviewer.

**Quote: "**If we are to judge of love by its consequences, it more nearly resembles hatred than friendship."-**Francois de La Rochefoucauld**

**/Chapter 7\**

**-Compromise-**

"You're avoiding me."

It was a simple statement of fact, not an accusation, for Erik had, quite frankly, expected something of this sort. But Charles jumped anyway, his eyes flying up from the book he had not really been studying to fix briefly on Erik's own, sliding away just as quickly. That start troubled the metal manipulator slightly, for Charles should have _sensed_ his presence, even if he had not _heard_ his approach.

"I'm not." The protest was half hearted at best, no real strength lingering behind the words, and Erik waved it away as he stepped fully within what was only one room among many.

"You're a poor liar, Charles."

"So I've been told." A ghost of a smile twisted his lips upwards, but it was an almost painful gesture, clouded with exhaustion and tangible sorrow. "But maybe that is just what you are meant to believe. If I put no effort into lying when the subject does not matter, who will suspect me of anything when it does?"

"You don't really believe that." He had spent the entire day waiting for a chance to speak with the telepath alone, and, now that he was here, the perfect opportunity available to him, he was dancing around the only real subject they had to discuss. The irony was not lost upon him, but he could summon neither the words nor the will to try and rectify the situation.

"Don't I?" Closing the thick volume in his hands, Charles set it aside on the small coffee table beside the couch, folding his hands in his lap, and gazing up at Erik with an expectant expression. "How can you be so certain?"

"I just am."

"How fortunate for you." Was the murmured response, the bite to the words that followed wholly unexpected. "And I suppose your judgment is always above question?"

"I didn't say that!" he protested immediately, but Charles did not give him a chance to respond further, the other man rising to his feet and making his way towards the exit.

"You didn't have to, my friend," he spoke as he moved. "Your actions speak louder than your words."

"Wait! We need to talk about this." He threw out an arm to block the other mutant's path, planting himself in the doorway, and effectively barring the only escape route. Charles could _make_ him move, of course. Could, but wouldn't, which really made this whole ordeal incredibly easy. The smaller man seemed to realize this, too, for the frown of annoyance on his face lasted only a moment, before that weary look returned, the same sense of exhaustion coloring his words as he spoke.

"I know, and we will, but I can't…I can't deal with this _now_."

_Can't_? It was not a word he had ever expected to emerge from the lips of this particular eternal optimist, but his eyes told him his ears should not be surprised. By all appearances, it was a miracle all on its own that the telepath was even still standing, and Erik found himself blurting his thoughts aloud.

"All _this_ is from what happened in Cuba?"

"I don't know." Charles eyed him warily, a look he was not used to seeing on this man's face, still displaying an obvious reluctance to have this conversation at all, whilst, at the same time, the uncharacteristic abrasiveness of his words signaled a desire to make this into a confrontation. "What, exactly, do you _think_ happened in Cuba, Erik? I would like to know. I assume it goes something along the lines of justified retribution, does it not?"

"_They_ fired on _us_, Charles." Erik felt the need to remind the other man of that fact, his words forceful, though he did not expect the brief flash of anger he received in return.

"And _you_ fired back!" Charles snapped. "You didn't _need_ to, they weren't a _threat_ to us anymore, they wouldn't have fired again, but you _threw_ their weapons back at them regardless. They fired upon us because they _feared_ us, what is your excuse? You weren't afraid of them, Erik, you _weren't_ afraid. You had _no_ reason to fire those missiles."

"You can't fight a war without firing a shot."

"We wouldn't _be_ in a war if you had just held yourself back!" Charles was unmoving. "_They_ didn't start this war, Erik, _you_ did. _You_ caused this. _You_ made a bad situation worse. What did you honestly hope to achieve by destroying those ships? Shaw was _dead_, and you did not need to draw that out as you did, by the way, but that's irrelevant now. He was _dead_, and you weren't _satisfied_ with that. A single life, Erik, a hundred, a _thousand_, when do you draw the line? You're buying safety in blood, do you honestly expect it to last? The more you shed, the more they will demand in return. You understand vengeance better than anyone, so how can you ignore what you have given birth to? It's a cycle, Erik, and it won't stop until _we_ do."

"So you want us to stand by and let them slaughter us? Is that it? You want us to go meekly to our fate like lambs to the slaughter?" Erik bristled at the very suggestion, his anger growing with every accusation thrust upon him, the metal in the room quivering in response, though they both ignored the rattle it caused. He had _expected_ this, prepared himself for it as best as he could, but facing it was another matter entirely. That Charles could be so completely and utterly _blind_ to reality, even now, astonished him.

"_No_!" It was as close to a shout of fury as Erik had ever seen Charles come, and he watched as the other man froze, paused, rethought his position, and reeled himself back in. Under any other circumstances, it might have been fascinating to watch the play of emotions that echoed across the telepath's face, right now it was only fuel to the fires of Erik's burning ire. He _wanted_ Charles to be angry, because that would make this confrontation all the more easy for him. It was so hard to argue with someone who insisted on maintaining the role of calm voice of reason.

"No," he uttered the word again, more quietly this time. "But I don't want our only retaliation to be violence, either, Erik. _We_ are the ones with the powers, not them, and those powers give us the chance to fight this war without completely decimating the other side. Mercy will buy us far more than death."

"You can't honestly believe this conflict will ever end unless one side is crowned the ultimate victor?" Incredulity warred with anger, the two emotions merging in a clash of sheer frustration. "There won't _be_ a truce, Charles. This is kill or _be_ killed."

"You don't know that."

"I _do_," he shook his head. "_You_ are the one who refuses to see reason."

"Forgive me if I am not in a hurry to play witness to further genocide." Charles words were just as icy as his eyes, dripping with the same frosted hostility, and Erik was surprised to find himself slightly intimidated by that look. "It did not go well for me the last time."

That forced him to stop, to rethink his words, his very approach to this conversation. For a moment, he was at a loss, not knowing how to respond to that truth, before at last the pained disbelief in his head forced itself to be heard. "Surely you don't experience _that_ every time someone dies?" It had been more than one someone in this case, many, _many_ more, but, even so…

"No, fortunately not," Charles shuddered at the very thought, and Erik could not help but share the sentiment. "But my defenses were already down due to Shaw, and, well..." he shrugged."I was ill equipped to handle it at the time."

"Shaw?" Erik frowned, confused. "What has he to do with it?"

Charles merely fixed him with an indescribable look, and it was only then his earlier words fully registered. _"…and you did not need to draw that out as you did…"_ The realization struck him out of the blue, his stomach twisting uncomfortably in the face of its presence, and all the strength of his arguments deserting him, so that he could do nothing but stand there, staring at the telepath, his mouth open, though no words would come to fill the void. How long he stood frozen like that he did not know, and, when he at last managed to speak, his words were little more than a whisper, coated with the full strength of the regret filling him.

"I didn't know."

"I should hope not!" Charles snorted. "Had you done what you did deliberately, I doubt I would be standing in this room right now without some form of protection. Preferably the invincible kind."

"Charles…"

"_No_, Erik." The other mutant cut him off before he could go any further, his tone soft and calm once more, but unyielding at the same time. "I do not need you to deny you would have drawn it out had you known. I do not think so ill of you as to have ever entertained the notion, though I doubt it is a memory I shall forget any time soon. What I _need_ from you, my friend, is reassurances that I can trust you to control yourself in the future. The past cannot be undone, and the lives that have been lost cannot be restored, but we can at least prevent the future from following the same bloodstained course.

"We _are_ at war now, much though it pains me to say it, and, whether you will admit it or not, we are at a decided disadvantage. We cannot risk allowing this conflict to escalate any more than it already has. They may strike at us with violence, but their actions will have far less validation if we do not do the same. I do not intend to stand by and let them slaughter us, I do not want to see mutant kind driven into extinction any more than you do, but, in this case, I believe defense is our best, perhaps our _only_ chance of weathering this storm. I need to be able to know that you can, that you _will_ walk away if the situation calls for it, and not bring more hatred raining down upon us. Will my faith be misplaced in you, Erik?"

The question emerged and hung between them like a living thing, making the room seem smaller, and suddenly oppressive. But, how to answer such a question? With the truth, of course, he knew, but the truth was not so simple as all that, and he wrestled with himself to find the answer, well aware that Charles remained waiting patiently, and would most likely stay that way till the day the world ended.

"I will try to follow your lead in the future," he spoke at last, grudgingly, but knowing this was one matter upon which there would be no compromises. He gave up on his natural instinct to destroy what posed a threat, or he gave up on the unique friendship he had formed with the telepath, a choice that was, he suspected, much harder than it should have been. Shaw would have asked him to immediately turn in one direction, Charles' begged he did not hesitate before choosing the other, but, though he paused, the answer he offered was complete in its sincerity. "I can offer you no more than that."

"Thank you, my friend." The relief on Charles' face was palpable, and Erik realized just how _afraid_ the other man had been that he would _not_ agree. That he would walk away, as he had almost done once before. But walking away now would solve nothing, he knew, not when they needed to stand united or risk facing extinction. Their morals, their beliefs, their very ethics diverged at some point in the road, and common ground was difficult, if not impossible, to find, but Charles had offered a point of neutrality, and, though initially hesitant, Erik found himself glad he had accepted it.

"Professor?" The far more comfortable quiet that had fallen between them was broken by Hank's cautious, and, if he was not mistaken, slightly irritated growl, narrowed eyes falling on Charles, who looked all of a sudden meek, if not a little sheepish.

"My apologies, Hank," he tilted his head slightly in Erik's direction. "I'm afraid the matter was taken out of my hands."

Whatever _that_ meant, it appeared to appease whatever grievance the other mutant had to hold against Charles, even if the look he gave Erik strongly suggested it had merely shifted targets. Regardless, the scientist allowed himself to be distracted for only that brief second, before stating his reason for seeking them out.

"Raven is looking for you," he spoke pointedly to Charles. "I don't think she thinks you're where you're supposed to be."

"Undoubtedly." Undaunted, Charles simply shrugged, "I am _never_ where she thinks I aught to be, and very rarely am I thinking what she thinks I should. I am a permanent source of disappointment, I fear."

The tone of the words was light, but there was a hidden edge behind that statement that had Erik giving his friend a scrutinizing glance, though there was little to be read in that quarter, for Charles already looked ghastly, and a little additional worry was unlikely to make that much of an impact. Hank had not missed the subtle inflection, either, it seemed, for his brow furrowed briefly into a scowl, which was then quickly hidden under affable agreement.

"Well, in this case, at least, I think she might be right. Supper is on the table."

"I'll be along shortly, Hank, thank you." When the beast mutant did not move, he waved a hand towards the papers spread out along with the book on the table. "I just need to clear up here."

Hank nodded, and made his departure, but not before casting Erik one, last, probing look that was certainly meant to be seen and regarded. Erik caught himself frowning, and it was a reaction that did not go unnoticed.

"I fear your actions unsettled them." Gathering up the materials he had been studying, Charles carefully returned them all to their rightful places. "In truth, I would have been concerned had they not."

"They do not understand," Erik answered him slowly, not entirely surprised by the mournful expression he received in return, or the words that accompanied it.

"I'm not sure I do either, my friend." 


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **This chapter was also a difficult one to write, mostly because I couldn't get it to begin as I wanted, and then it wouldn't blend as seamlessly as I would have liked. :( That'll teach me to have such a perfectionist complex, LOL.

**Quote: **"A half truth, like half a brick, is always more forcible as an argument than a whole one. It carries better."-Stephen Leacock

**/Chapter 8\**

**-Never Pick a Fight with a Telepath-**

Pushing open the door to the study with her foot, Moira paused a moment, tray in hand, to study the scene before her, a smile playing around the edges of her lips. The furniture within the room had been shifted to accommodate the rather enlarged group now occupying it, a low table pulled up in the middle of a circle of chairs, strewn with a dozen different papers and diagrams detailing the progress they had made. But it was not that actual image, so much as the feeling it gave off that warmed her heart, for this picture of all of them, working together so smoothly, was a perfect replica of the way things had been _before_.

The youngsters had lined themselves up one next to another, Sean, Alex, and Hank, with Raven, the gap that had been left for Moira herself, and Erik forming the other smooth part of the circle. Whether intentionally or not, Charles' own position disturbed that flow, extra distance on either side of him separating him from the rest, whilst at the same time placing him at the very center of their focus. Charles, for his part, did not seem to have noticed the manner in which he had been singled out, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed look that eased the impact of whatever remnants of shadow still clung to his face.

And there _were_ still remnants, if you knew where to look, though, aside from the conversation he had had with Eric on the matter, a little tidbit she had gleaned from Hank, who had forced the whole conversation from the telepath using some unknown pact he had held over the older mutant's head, Charles had never made mention of the events on the beach. He didn't really need to, though, she knew, because they had all felt a part of _that_, and it was more than enough to tell them what had caused that lingering darkness behind the vibrant, blue depths.

He looked healthier now, though, even if his pallor was still off, and the light in his eyes not quite as bright as it had been before. He had all but ceased spacing out on them, which had happened quite regularly during the first twenty-four hours, and the pinched look he wore had faded when the headaches did. His confidence, too, seemed to have restored itself, and what doubt she had seen that first day they spoke after Cuba appeared to have been allayed by her words, or, at the very least, buried deep.

He was _better_, so why had the uneasy feeling in her stomach only grown worse with each passing hour? She had tried to ignore it, convinced it was nothing, but, even as the scene before her warmed her heart, at the same time it set her stomach to twisting again, her worry taking on a weight all of its own. By now, though, her lingering had inevitably caught the attention of the telepath, along with most of her thoughts too, probably. He did not call her to account, however, either verbally or mentally, merely catching her gaze with his own, the slight smile he offered beckoning her to join them.

Nudging the door shut with her elbow, and simultaneously squishing down her inane fear, she moved across the room in answer to that unspoken invitation, delivering each of their separate 'orders', slightly amused by the fact she was playing waitress. That done, she settled down in her own designated spot, warm mug in hand, letting the steady thrum of the conversation, which had not been at all disrupted by her actions, flow over her. She was tired again, but it was a more comfortable weariness than the sheer exhaustion of a few days before, tempered by the satisfying knowledge she had actually achieved something worthwhile.

Had she not already been present to witness the week of preparation that had preceded Cuba, she would have been astonished at the sheer _volume_ of work that was accomplished in the three days it took for Charles to regain an appearance that looked at least _partially_ human (and wasn't that statement a layered, twisted thing?). Even having already seen the sheer determination and willpower this small band possessed, she was still slightly in awe of just how much they could achieve, and that was without making mention of the depth of strategical foresight that went into it all.

The Xavier Mansion, for all its ostentatious, grand outward appearance, was astonishingly well endowed with secret rooms, passages, and holes, running below, above, and sometimes _through_ the many rooms that were more easily found. It had taken all of them a full day to explore and assess the many hidden routes not even the building's schematics showed, and it was more Charles and Raven's knowledge of the house, along with Erik's ability to sense hidden metal, that had guided them through the process.

The escape tunnels, once found, had been plotted out on a map of the building by Hank, soon developing into a complex array that would later be formed into a firm, and hopefully foolproof, plan of retreat, with safe routes existing for just about every room on every floor. Once the existing facilities had been evaluated, attention was paid to widening the depth and expanse of the underground bunkers already in place, and extending the tunnels beyond the Estate's boundaries. Hank, Erik, and Charles had already spent a great deal of time pouring over maps and diagrams such as those laid out before them now, deciding upon what materials would be necessary, and how soon progress might start on the modifications.

When not occupied with either of these things, Hank had devoted his time to retrieving what coordinates he could from the damaged typewriter ribbons, and listing everything he would need to reconstruct Cerebro in the labyrinth beneath the Xavier Mansion. Alex and Sean, on the other hand, had chosen to fall back on the training that had occupied much of their time spent on the Estate prior to Cuba, though, if anyone noticed the way one of them always hovered nearby whenever Erik and Charles were otherwise alone, nothing was said on the matter.

Raven and Moira were the only ones to have left the mansion during the three day window, the pair of them requisitioning food supplies from the nearest town, using Raven's shifting abilities to their maximum potential. Charles expected the number of people staying at the mansion to increase, whether gradually or abruptly he had not attempted to predict, but purchasing food for a large number of people in mass was bound to attract attention, making Raven's ability to appear as so many different people invaluable. Until a more permanent solution could be found, at least. Through her efforts, their supply of non-perishable food had grown exponentially, a precaution Erik insisted was well founded, given the not entirely unlikely possibility of a siege situation.

Moira herself had used what time she had away from the Estate to get in contact with the few people she thought she could still trust, keeping her movements on that count as low key as possible, but garnering from her toils the pleasing, and somewhat reassuring, knowledge that the CIA, _and_ its counterparts, had yet to implement any solid plans to deal with the perceived 'mutant problem', let alone informing the public about it. With Hank's sources detailing a situation much the same, Moira had felt safe in passing the news of their temporary security on to the others, though neither Charles nor Erik had seemed particularly comforted when informed of this. If anything, the pair of them grew even _more _uneasy, though Moira couldn't safely venture a guess as to why.

She, herself, had not been able to help but notice that with Charles' recovery the events of their day-to-day lives seemed to have regained a sense of rhythm and stability, a purpose and direction, which offered security, if not outwardly, then at least inwardly. They were all finding comfort in the familiarity of their concerted efforts, in the knowledge they were all working to achieve the same thing.

That comfort dramatically eased the strain that had played havoc with all their nerves for the past five days, even if it did not vanish completely, and the relationships within the group, if no longer as trusting as before, were at least without the open hostility they had fleetingly possessed. The mutants, herself included as an honorary member of this motley group, had found common ground against an universal threat, and it was amazing how much of a difference that could make.

Her mind fully occupied with reminiscing, it took Moira a moment to notice the utter silence that had fallen over the gathering, and she was shocked to see, when she glanced about the faces of those congregated, the shared unease and dismay that all but Charles was showing, naming him as the cause of all this. Whatever he had said, it took a long moment for his words to sink in, even longer to process them, and it was Alex, a quicker thinker than either of the other, younger mutants, who finally blurted a response.

"_What_?" Then, for good measure, he added with incredulity, "You _can't_ be serious!"

"I'm perfectly serious." Charles' response was serene, an equal match for his relaxed posture, leaning back into the comfortable armchair, his legs crossed, elbows resting on the supports, and hands tented before him. He was the very picture of the calm at the eye of the storm, and Moira had a sinking feeling that was what he was about to become.

Her worry was proving itself well founded after all.

"There are too few of us here now to both go in search of other mutants and protect the Estate with any real efficiency, and leaving this place undefended is hardly an efficient way of providing anyone we might find with a safe haven," Charles explained, giving Moira a good guess at what had been said whilst she was lost in her thoughts, for Charles had been hinting at this over the past few days, even if the others had not noticed. "A good number of the mutants we have discovered are still young, nothing more than children, and you can't expect them to defend themselves."

"And you expect _them_ to defend _children_?" Alex, once again. "They tried to _kill_ us."

"We did not share a common enemy at the time." Charles was apparently unaffected by their obvious doubt, shrugging lightly, "Now we do."

"I'm not so sure," Sean shook his head, leaning forward slightly, the tips of his fingers pressed together, hands splayed, eyes flickering back and forth across the diagrams spread out before them, though they were not the true point of his focus. "I don't know that I'd feel all that safe with them around."

"I'm with Alex and Sean," Hank nodded as well, his tone seemingly apologetic, but firm, nonetheless. "It's one thing to trust Moira." _And Erik. _But those words were not uttered aloud, for a look was telling enough."But those three _worked_ for Shaw."

"And Shaw did not believe in bringing harm to other mutants," Charles answered him steadily. "However twisted he might have been, that is one point, at least, upon which our opinions do not differ. Angel, Azazel, and Riptide are the only mutants I know of, certainly the only ones strong enough, to be of any use to us should it come to needing to defend this place. It is not ideal, I grant you that, but this is a case of needs must, my friends."

"For someone who didn't mean to bring harm to other mutants, his lackeys sure did a lot of damage," Alex glowered darkly, making no attempt to mask his displeasure. "I don't like this. I _really_, _really_ don't like it."

"I do not expect you to." The telepath's response was instant, and understanding. "_Any _of you. They _were_ our enemies, and they did try to bring us to harm, but I also seem to remember that, once Shaw was gone, they ceased attacking us. They did not have to, for we were just as battered as they, but they didn't even try to start anything. That said, I do not intend to bring them here directly. I would like to speak with them in person, but I shall do so elsewhere, where I can read their intentions before even considering bringing them here."

"And what if they hide their thoughts from you?" Erik broke his self-imposed silence at last, inevitably drawing all eyes in the room to himself. He ignored the stares of the others, something he was growing more and more skilled at with each passing day, focusing his attention on Charles alone.

"There are very few people in the world capable of hiding their true intentions from me." Charles' smile was grim. "_They_ are not among them."

"I still think this is a bad idea, Professor," Hank sighed, though there was a resigned note to his voice. "But I _can_ see the necessity. If you think this is the right thing to do, then you have my support."

"Thank you, Hank, I appreciate your confidence." Charles turned to the others. "Alex?"

"I don't trust them." Was the immediate response, to which the other mutant merely sighed.

"I don't _want_ you to trust them straight off, Alex," he chided the former inmate gently. "Trust is something that must be earned. I trust _you_ not to trust them. You'll be in charge of security here on the Estate, and, should they agree, they will answer to you."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel any better," the energy infused mutant huffed, before giving his head a slow, incredibly reluctant nod. "Fine, I'm in, but don't expect me to be pleased about it."

"Personally, I think you're insane, Charles," Raven piped up, sitting ramrod straight, her gaze never wavering from her brother's face. "But I highly doubt anything I say is going to make an impact."

"They did help us to get off the beach, I suppose," Sean conceded reluctantly, before turning a suspicious gaze on Erik. "How did you do that, by the way?"

The metal manipulator ignored him, once again paying attention only to Charles, looking for all the world as though _he_ were trying to read the _telepath_'s mind. His words, when they came, were a far cry from what Moira had been expecting. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Charles did not look overly surprised by that statement, and Moira wondered whether or not that was due to his slowly recovering telepathic skill picking up on the other man's intentions before he had even uttered a word, or just the knowledge of Eric he already had. Not that she was at all certain he had been being truthful when reassuring herself, and all the rest of them, that his powers _were _recovering, for that verbal reassurance had still been without its mental accompaniment. Regardless of the reasons behind his unsurprised reaction, Charles simply waited, clearly expecting elucidation.

"You said you didn't want to escalate the violence," Erik reminded him pointedly. "If those three encounter a threat, they won't hesitate to eliminate it."

"I know," Charles nodded, an indescribable expression on his face that Moira found impossible to read. "And that is what I am counting on."

"Wait, what?" Raven's surprised statement echoed the shared sentiments of the entire group, but the reply the telepath offered was entirely level.

"If it comes down to an attack on the Estate, we will need to move as swiftly as possible, so merely delaying any intruders won't be enough. It will end in the inevitable situation of our lives versus theirs, and, if that becomes the case, _our_ reaction will need to be swift, and without hesitation. I don't like that possibility any more than you do, but, unfortunately, it is the reality now, and we can do nothing to change that."

"You _have_ thought this through, then." It was a statement, Erik seemingly appeased by Charles' candid response.

"At great length, unfortunately." Charles' expression was rueful. "It was not an easy decision to make. You have been awfully quiet, Moira." Startled out of her inner musings, the CIA agent suddenly found herself pinned by that bright, azure gaze. "Are _you_ all right with this?"

"By the rule of majority, I think I've already been outvoted," she shrugged, honestly not having considered her own position on the matter. This was _their_ fight, after all, not hers, and she was simply tagging along for the ride. To be honest, she wasn't at all certain bringing Shaw's former allies here was a good idea, but she could also see the wisdom of doing so. It was a classic case of risk versus gain, and whilst the two might balance each other out, she wasn't convinced the gain outweighed the risk enough. But, that said, she trusted Charles' judgment, and, if he thought this was necessary, she was not going to disagree. She had already pledged her belief, after all, and a large part of believing in someone was trusting them. "I have no objections, Charles."

"Good." There was something off about his return smile, though it didn't take her long to realize why. "Now that we're all agreed, I'm sure none of you will mind overly much when I ask you to allow me to speak with them alone."

It was at that point that the storm, which, in truth, had been brewing underneath the deceptively tranquil surface for the past three days, finally came to a head in a torrent of objections and angry exclamations. Not even Erik, Moira noted, over her own sound of protest, was impervious, the glare he had fixed upon the cause of all this commotion a sure sign of his obvious disapproval. Charles, for his part, allowed the overrunning arguments to continue for about a full minute, before silencing them all with a single, monumental statement.

"_Quiet, please_."

It was almost comical, the way they all froze in place in a manner that was eerily similar to the way Charles had frozen everyone back in the CIA. But it was not Charles' powers that kept them in place this time. Nor was it due to the words he had spoken, or the tone they had been spoken in. No, what had stopped them all in their tracks was that those words had _not_, in fact, _been_ spoken. It was the first mental projection the telepath had made since Cuba, and it was flawless in its affect.

"Thank you." With a disarming grin, Charles continued before any of them had a chance to recover, "And, before you all start up again, I would like you to know that this matter is _not_ up for debate. I _am_ going alone, whether or not you approve of it, and I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise. For all intents and purposes, Alex, you _are_ right, and we _were_ enemies, so, if we expect them to be trustworthy, we must first show that we are."

"And here I was actually thinking you had _learned_ something from this ordeal." Erik's words were scathing, his anger evident in his flashing eyes. "This goes beyond naivety, Charles, it is sheer stupidity! What will you do when they turn on you?"

"First of all, I am hardly incapable of defending myself from those three." The other mutant took his time responding, and his voice never lost the reasoning note it had held since this discussion first began. "And, secondly, given the threats you made on the beach in regards to all forms of betrayal, I highly doubt _any_ of them will risk laying a hand on me."

"How did you…?" Erik began in surprise, before his visage twisted into a dark scowl. "Stop reading my thoughts!"

"I wasn't," Charles said innocently, but there was a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes that told Moira he was enjoying this a lot more than he should. "I was guessing. You just confirmed my suspicions."

Erik's expression was more telling than words could have ever been, but, though _his_ protests died, the others were not so willing to submit to Charles' request, and, Moira had to admit, she was inclined to side with them.

"I'm not going to let you do this, Charles." Raven was adamant. "And you promised never to use your powers on me, so you can't convince me otherwise."

"I don't need to," Charles responded with characteristic stubbornness. "You aren't going to talk me out of this, Raven. I'll find a way to do it, even if you _do_ go through with your very clear intention of locking me in my room."

"We could take shifts guarding the door?" Sean suggested, with just a little too much enthusiasm, earning himself a dry glance from his teacher.

"Really, all of you, your concern is touching, but I _am_ perfectly able of looking after myself."

"And you have a stunning record on that count, don't you?" Raven snapped fiercely, before worry overrode her irritation and she resorted to pleading instead. "_Please_, Charles, I don't want you to go alone."

"And when you have mastered diplomacy, I might allow you to come with me." He was immovable, and Moira was sure she was not the only one to realize this argument was pointless. Charles very rarely gave up on something when he had his mind set on it. "But, given the intentions you, and almost everyone else in this room, are broadcasting rather loudly, I do not think it is in anyone's best interest to take _any_ of you along."

"None of those three are telepaths," Alex pointed out. "_They_ won't know."

"Oh, believe me, my friend." Charles gave a light chuckle. "I don't _need_ to be a telepath right now to know. It is written all over your face."

"Then why not take Erik?" Hank suggested hopefully, apparently deciding leaving Charles alone with Erik was the lesser evil, given the options on hand. "They're already scared of him, so it won't matter whether he's hostile or not."

"I'm not trying to _terrify_ them into submission, Hank."

"Well, maybe you _should_ be," Raven retorted peevishly, rising and moving around to perch on the arm of his chair, forcing him to shift over to accommodate her presence as she leaned into his personal space. "And what are all the rest of us supposed to do, while you are off needlessly throwing yourself in the path of danger?"

"Finish up here," Charles prompted without hesitation, gesturing towards the papers laid out between their huddled circle. "We'll begin initiating all this as soon as I return."

He was closing the subject, Moira realized, and the others must have too, if the thinned lips that were clearly barely holding back further objections were any indication. Charles, undoubtedly more aware of the simmering thoughts just below the surface than she was, affected not to notice at all, simply rising to his feet and fixing his gaze directly on her.

"Moira, a word?"

Trying not to flinch at the flash of annoyance that flickered across Erik's face, Moira rose quickly to her feet in order to follow the telepath from the room, fleeing the watchful eyes of the other mutants, and barely holding back a sigh of relief once the door had closed between her and them. Not content with the privacy the solidness of the wall offered, Charles' waited until they had gone some way down the hallway, well beyond earshot, before voicing his reason for dragging her away from the others.

"I'd like you to come with me."

"But, I thought…" She could not hide her confusion, but he simply shook his head, offering her the explanation she had so clearly missed.

"If they do not feel comfortable with leaving me to do this alone, they are certainly not going to accept you as sufficient protection. No offense."

"None taken," she murmured, finally beginning to see where this might be going.

"And, because they _know_ I would never take you along as protection against other mutants, they would want to know _why_ I'm taking you."

"And why _are_ you taking me?" Suspicion had replaced surprise now, and that creeping sense of uneasy anticipation lurking in the back of her mind had battled its way forward again. Charles was being downright opaque, and she was convinced that wasn't accidental. "And don't tell me it's for directions, because you could have got those from anyone."

"It's a surprise?"

"_Charles_."

"No, really, it is."

"Fine." This game was becoming very tiring, very fast, and she was running out of patience, the incessant worry not helping in the slightest, because she could hardly say that feeling was coincidental and actually expect herself to believe it. "What kind of surprise?"

"Not the unpleasant kind, I hope, though that is always a possibility." He fell silent in thought for a moment, before giving a slight shrug, "Will you come?"

"I _should_ say no," she sighed, well aware the end result had been inevitable from the moment this conversation started, inevitable from the moment she had promised her help, and her heart, though he didn't know that yet, over the breakfast table. "I should march right back in there and tell them all you've gone insane, and that you need to be confined to your room until this mad fit passes."

His smile was entirely too confident, but he wasn't smug, and that was enough to soften the blow sufficiently so as to not give rise to her ire. "Should doesn't mean will, and you won't."

"Just don't make me regret this, please?" she begged, both of herself _and_ him. "Do you really want to go now? It's late..." She didn't really have a hope of dissuading him, but it was worth a try.

"It might be for the best if we leave quickly." His amusement was obvious. "_Before_ Erik comes in search of me."

"I think I liked you better when you were moping," she sighed heavily, falling into line beside him anyway, though she was sure her very presence radiated with discontent and disapproval.

"I wasn't moping," he answered her lightly, but there was an undercurrent to his words that did not go unnoticed. "I was merely…distracted."

"But you aren't now, yes?" If she was going to go through with this, she needed to be certain she was not making a mistake. "Charles?"

"I'm fine, and I'll _be_ fine, Moira, trust me." The light brush of reassurance against her mind she had been expecting for several days now did more than his words ever could have done to set her fears at ease. "I can handle this."

"Actually," she returned brightly, confident now he had not simply been lying for their benefit, and more than ready to engage in a lighter mood after the dreariness of the past few days. "I'm more worried about what we'll encounter when we come home."

**A/N-2: **_Just an added thought out of curiosity_. _Can anyone figure out what the 'surprise' is?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Well, it was touch and go getting this update to post, what with the interweb deciding to work in shifts and the washing machine flooding the only place that actually has carpet, not to mention all the various musical instruments and cables that very nearly went for a dip. Oh, well, the internet is working now, so all is good. This update is the second to last, and this _chapter_ reveals the surprise mentioned in the last installment. Suffice to say, I don't think Erik and Charles' share the same opinion of what constitutes a 'pleasant surprise'.

**Quote: **"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved."-George MacDonald

**/Chapter 9\**

**-Chess Pieces and Choices-**

Erik was beginning to realize he had broken something. Twisted it and pulled until the strain became too much, and it shattered into millions of tiny, irretrievable, _irreparable_ fragments. It shouldn't have surprised him, honestly, for how many precious things had he already destroyed with his touch? How many lives, pure, unsoiled, had been tarnished by his presence, even the slightest brush of his existence against theirs an omen of death and suffering?

He had hoped, more than believed, that things might be different this time. That the people around him he was slowly beginning to trust would prove themselves impervious to his curse. And they had, in a way. He had not destroyed the lives of these people, not yet, but the openness with which they had once treated him, albeit a more reserved openness in the case of the younger mutants, was now gone, leaving behind it a hollow void of unease and uncertainty.

He wouldn't have minded had it only been the others, if even Raven shunned his presence, but to see Charles duck and withdraw, recoiling from his presence now when he had embraced every monstrosity Erik's past had presented prior to Cuba, _that_ hit him with a sting of rejection he had not felt for years. All the more so because he had done nothing wrong. Nothing, really, that he not done before. Although none of his violent hunts for the ones who had shaped his life had claimed so many lives before, it had been nothing Charles had not already seen him commit in his memory, so why this hesitation now?

Except, Erik already knew the answer to that.

"_There are _thousands _of men on those ships! Good, honest, _innocent_ men._"

Only Charles had the capability, the sheer, _unquestioning _faith to call the very ones trying to destroy them _innocent_. Those same, _good_ men had been the ones to load the weapons, to release hellfire strong enough to decimate a small army upon their diminutive numbers, to try and wipe them from the face of the world.

And Charles called them _innocent_?

He was furious at the telepath for that, for his willful blindness, for laying the blame at _Erik's_ feet when he should have been looking to the humans for culprits, for the _reason _they were now desperate enough for allies so as to go looking among the enemy. But, no, Charles was too attached to humanity to see beyond what he _wanted_ to see. Erik suspected it was a trait that would get him killed, if a worse fate did not first befall him.

He should leave now, he knew; leave before it came to that. He had tried, and failed, to dissuade Charles from the path that would lead to his doom, and, if the telepath continued to refuse to accept reality there really was little Erik could do. So he should go, find his own way alone, as he had always done, but something held him back. Something unnamable, intangible, hovering just at the corner of his mind, beyond the reach of enlightenment, deliberately shoved there, because he was too afraid to discover what it might be to take it out and examine it.

"You can't fault him for being what he is, you know."

Startled from his internal monologue, Erik instantly berated himself for losing awareness of his surroundings, even for a moment. It was a small mistake, but small mistakes could be deadly, and, even if Raven did not pose a true threat to his physical wellbeing, he feared it would be all too easy for her to dull the tapered edge of anger he had so carefully been building into an impenetrable wall of defense. Turning slowly, he affixed her with a cool look, his words devoid of any sign of welcome.

"Fault whom?"

"Charles." She cocked her head at him, amber eyes narrowed in fierce concentration. "The reason you are standing in here, glaring at that chessboard, and just barely restraining the urge to pull your hair out."

"Ah." For some reason, he sensed a kindred spirit. "You speak from experience?"

"Unfortunately, though minus the chessboard. I can't play." Her face twisted into a rueful smile, and, as expected, the sharp edges of his fury began to bleed away into something softer, and less immovable. He _really_ should have left when he had the chance. "Charles has always been…Well, _Charles_. All kinds of infuriating stuffed into one package, and then slammed around your head repetitively."

"Eloquent," he sighed, dropping down into one of the two chairs, still in place from the last time he and the telepath had played, and fixing his gaze on the vacant spot opposite his own. "Does he know you think that?"

"Probably." Raven moved to fill the void, but she didn't look right in that chair, misplaced, almost. "But he won't change, and now, now that I've had the time to think about it, I don't think I want him to. Most of the time, anyway."

"It doesn't matter what you want." Erik knew it sounded harsh, but he had never been one to sugarcoat his words, or shield others from the blatant truth. "The world is changing, if Charles is going to survive this, he's going to have to adapt."

"But _adapting_ isn't the same as _changing_," Raven argued back immediately. "Think about it, Erik. You may not approve of what my brother believes in, you may not even be able to see eye to eye, but if Charles hadn't been the person he is you'd be dead right now. He saved your life that day we first met you, without any motive, without any ulterior goal. How many people do you know of who would throw themselves off the side of a ship to save someone they didn't even know, someone who, at the time, was out of their mind with the need for vengeance? So maybe he _is_ too idealistic, too trusting for this world, too ready to accept without question, but isn't that all the more reason for us to support him? We're the only people in the world who can protect him from himself, when everyone else could just as easily take advantage."

"He doesn't listen to any of us regardless." Erik felt the need to point that out, for the telepath's marked absence from the household was the best example he could hope to find. "Do you honestly think we're going to be able to stop anything?"

"He does listen, sometimes," Raven winced, but she didn't falter. "But that's not the point. Erik, we _need_ him. We need him to hold us together, to stop us from tearing each other apart like we did while he was ill. If there is _anything_ I have learnt from these past weeks it is that, no matter what we do, we do it _better _as a team, working _together_. I don't know what's going to happen in the future, I don't know if we'll live through what is to come, but I _do_ know that we won't make it alone. Us against the world, Erik, and we _need_ to stand together."

Erik let the ensuing silence fall, the stillness offering tranquility as he tried to gather his thoughts, watching Raven as he did so. This was a girl, a _woman_ who had spent more than half her life alone in the world save for the presence of a single telepath, one of only a handful of people who hadn't turned her away for what she was. The closeness between the pair had been evident from the moment Erik had had time to observe them together, but that dynamic had changed the longer he spent with them.

They had drifted apart, the understanding he had initially marveled at crumbling beneath the pressures of Raven's insecurities and Charles' inability to comprehend her reasons. He knew it had happened, because she had turned to _him_ for what her brother could no longer provide, unable to find the bridges necessary to span the chasm forming between her and him. That had changed again now. Something had shifted beneath the surface, something he had missed, and Raven was once again on her brother's side of the fence.

"Why?"

"Why what?" He did not realize he had spoken aloud until she responded, glancing at him in confusion, and he was forced to try and reassemble his thoughts in such a way as to provide some measure of sense.

"Why this sudden change of heart?" he said at last, cutting her off when she frowned. "Oh, don't try to deny it. You were angry with him for not understanding, and now your defending that blindness?"

"Charles didn't understand, I don't even know if he does now," she sighed, clenching her hands together. "But it's taken me this long to realize I don't either. I've been so preoccupied worrying about all of _this_," she gestured to the blue skin, stark, auburn hair, and bright, amber eyes, without the words to sufficiently describe it all, and so relying on imagery instead. "And it was my problem, so, really, I was fully justified in worrying about it, but I…Haven't you ever wondered what it's like?"

"What what is like?" He was confused now, lost within the diverging tangents of her thoughts, but he was forced to wait as she paused again, rubbing her palms together in a nervous movement.

"What it's like _being_ everyone," she said at last, quietly, her tone subdued and deeply thoughtful. "People project all the time, especially those who don't know about telepaths, let alone how to defend themselves from them. Charles promised me he would never read my mind, and he never has deliberately, but sometimes he says things and I know he's picked up on my thoughts without even realizing it. I may not like that I have to, but I _can_ hide when I need to, and then, when I'm somewhere safe, I can shut myself down, relax, and just _be_ me. Charles can't do that, Erik, he can't just shut off his gift. He can control it, yes, even constrict it, but he can't shut it off. Unless he locks himself alone beyond 'hearing' distance, he's always going to be experiencing the thoughts and feelings of at least one other person."

Sighing pensively, she leant forward, resting the tip of her finger atop one of the chess pieces, tilting it from side to side, but never actually moving it from its designated square, her face a picture of deep consideration. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the ensuing quiet, and Erik's count had long since departed from the first round of hundreds when Raven blurted abruptly.

"I guess it's hard to hate people when you live inside their heads as well as your own."

"He doesn't distinguish between the two well enough." Bending across the board, he slid the piece out from under her fingers, making the move for the white side, before considering his own options. "He expects people to act with the same integrity he does."

"It's an innocent 'til proven guilty methodology." Raven was scowling at the board, clearly trying to determine whether he had just hindered or helped her. "He assumes they'll act honorably until they do something to prove otherwise."

"Which is..." Brandishing the pawn in his hands at her, Erik used the movement to emphasize his words. "_Exactly_ what is going to get him into trouble. It's all well and good, giving people a chance, but some people don't need more than one to strike you down hard enough that you _won't_ get back up."

"I know," she nodded, her eyes now fixed on _his_ move, though she looked just as perplexed as before. "But that's why we need you here, Erik. You're the counter balance, the…the other half of the puzzle, the other side of the coin." Oh, hell, she just _had_ to use that imagery. "You'll be cautious when he isn't."

"What are you trying to say, Raven?" Trying to banish the memories her words had brought to vivid life, he fixed her with a bland look, rolling a rook back and forth between his fingers. Honestly, this girl was giving him whiplash. One moment she was a screaming fury, the next she was sitting here, pretending to play chess, and all but begging him not to leave. He'd known she was a shifter for weeks now, what he hadn't known was that her abilities applied as much to her emotions as it did her physical form.

"That we need you here," she answered him instantly, and with a steadiness that effectively covered her earlier indecision. "That Charles needs you, even if he doesn't realize it yet. So, please, don't leave. I know it's been strained lately, and things are really tense right now, but it's just going to take time. What you did, Erik...Maybe there was reason and justification behind it." It was the largest concession she had yet made. "But, in a way, Charles was right. Even after everything we saw at that CIA facility, we _were_ still kids, still are, in some ways, and it's going to take time to…to come to terms with what happened in Cuba."

"I understand that." And he did. Even as he envied their innocence, he recognized it for what it was. "You are not the problem here, Raven."

"It's Charles, isn't it?" Her eyes were filled with an emotion he could not name as she stared at him, but the desperation, the _pain _in her voice was unmissable. "Erik, I don't think this is what you think it is."

"And how do you figure that?" he demanded, without any real force. "He's avoiding me, Raven. He said himself he didn't understand what I'd done, and he certainly didn't condone it. He's angry with me."

"Maybe." She looked dubious. "But I don't think you quite understand the inner workings of my brother's mind. You can't really be expected to, because, despite what it seems like, it _hasn't_ been that long since we all met. But, _I've_ known Charles a long time. We _do_ understand one another, most of the time."

"So…You're saying he's _not_ angry with me?"

"He _was_, I think," she shook her head. "Maybe he even still is, I don't know, that's not what I was saying. What I mean is, though he _may_ be angry at you for what you did, he's angrier at _himself_ for not stopping you."

He stared at her, utterly taken aback, and she nodded in apparent shared amazement.

"I know, it's crazy, but it's also very Charles. He has a hero complex, Erik, and he takes it as a personal affront when he can't fix whatever he perceives to be broken. Charles may not understand why you did what you did, but he _does_ know the source of your reasons, and he's annoyed with himself for not being enough of a deterrent against those memories." Her smile was soft, and tinged with an indulgent air. "I don't know when he got it stuck in his head that trying to heal the entire world was a brilliant master plan, but it's there, and if it hasn't faded yet, I don't think it's going to."

"So why is he avoiding me, then?" Her words made sense, for he, too, had borne witness to Charles' need to believe that unity was always an option, and that the better outcome was always the one that would eventuate from any given situation. Words uttered in this very room the night prior to Cuba had proven that beyond all doubt, but there was still a lingering sense of disbelief in the back of his mind, a suspicion that not _all_ of this could be swept away by Raven's easy explanation.

"I don't know," she conceded that point, though it was a victory he could have done without. "I don't think he's certain of his footing around you anymore. He didn't expect you to fire those missiles, Erik, it…it hurt him that you _did_."

"Because he believed in an illusion," Erik shook his head in disapproval. "He saw a part of me, and refused to look at the rest. He's never going to survive this war." And that revelation was far more painful than it ought to have been, for hadn't he already known as much?

"Don't say that!" Raven's tone was nearly frantic, and she sent the chess pieces scuttling as she leapt to her feet, her hands clenched in trembling fists as she stared at him pleadingly. "_Please_ don't say that."

"Raven…" Exhaling heavily, he scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration, motioning for her to sit back down, which she did with obvious reluctance, and focusing all his attention on restoring order to the playing board between them. "I don't know what you expect me to do." He kept his gaze on the work his hands were doing, unwilling to meet her petrified stare. "You told me he wouldn't change."

"I also said I wasn't sure he _should_," she responded quietly. Timidly. "He needs a partner in this, Erik."

"You just told me he didn't trust me."

"No," she refuted the words immediately. "I said he wasn't _sure_ of you, it's different."

"No, it's not."

"It _is_." They were starting to sound like a pair of petulant children, but Raven was not done yet. "He trusts you, Erik, why else would he believe you when you said you'd follow his lead?"

"How did you…?" he stared at her, watching as a smirk colored her lips.

"I have my ways of extracting information from my brother," she told him haughtily. "You'd best keep that in mind."

"I'll be sure to do that," he remarked dryly, leaning back in his chair, and studying her over steepled fingers, admitting quietly, "He didn't question me, once the words were spoken."

"Exactly," she nodded. "Because he trusts you not to say something you don't mean. You did something he didn't expect, Erik, and that sort of thing always manages to shake him up a little, because he thinks he should be omniscient, and inevitably ends up disappointed when he's not."

"Arrogant fool."

"I prefer quixotic, but whatever you want to call it. Does this mean you'll stay?"

"How did you even know I was planning to leave?" He eyed her curiously, and was surprised when she gave a modest shrug.

"I haven't had a great deal to occupy my mind with these last few days, and you just seemed like someone stuck in flight mode. You started this, you know." She eyed him intently, seriously, revealing her final weapon. "Are you really going to leave us facing the consequences on our own?"

"No." It was a foregone conclusion, really, and he could not help but be impressed at how subtly she had conducted this battle. "I'm not. But you knew that already."

"Checkmate," she grinned, and it was a more genuine expression than any he had received from her in the recent past. It evaporated quickly, however, as her eyes drifted away from him and up to the clock on the wall, a marked frown crinkling the blue skin of her brow. "They've been gone for hours now."

"_They_?" he blinked, and she gave him a shocked look.

"You mean you didn't know?" When he continued to stare at her blankly, she explained, "He took Moira with him."

"Moira?" he blinked again, enlightenment slow to come, and cruel when it did. "He took _Moira_ with him?"

"I thought you knew." Raven looked scared, though that was probably due in part to the fearsome look of pure anger he was sure showed on his face. "Erik, what…?"

"That bloody, stupid fool!"

Not bothering to wait long enough to answer her questions, he flew to his feet and marched from the room with long, purposeful strides, each step eating up the carpeted distance of the hall as he made a beeline for the front door. He had _known_, the moment Charles asked to speak with Moira alone, that something was up, but he had ignored his instincts, he had chosen not to pry, and hadn't bothered to hang around to see what happened once the two were done. Now it had been almost eleven hours, eleven hideously long hours, and neither of them had returned.

Reaching the door, he swung it open with all the force his anger had given him, only to freeze in shock when he came face to face with none other than Moira McTaggert, the CIA agent's hand still outstretched comically for the doorknob that had been ripped from her grasp, whilst her slightly wide eyed expression told him he still looked as furious as he felt. For a moment they simply stared at one another, before Raven cleared her throat quietly behind him, and Erik recovered his composure enough to step aside, allowing the woman to enter the mansion, along with the extended retinue she had brought with her.

He wasn't entirely surprised that Charles had been successful in convincing the threesome to join them. After all, he himself had been talked around often enough by the telepath to know full well the Englishman possessed a silver tongue, even without the edge his abilities gave him. Nor was he that astonished by the wary looks all three gave him as they slid past one by one, clearly remembering the last time he had exchanged words with them, a pleasant memory for him, but not for them.

No, it was not until Charles stepped smoothly through the door, a triumphant grin twitching on his lips, that he found himself taken aback, and not in a good way. For, sauntering along on his heels, moving with the confident grace that was as natural to her as were the smooth movements of the feline race, looking for all the world as though she belonged here, was none other than Emma Frost.


	11. Chapter 11

**Quote: **"Love has its place, as does hate. Peace has its place, as does war. Mercy has its place, as do cruelty and revenge."-Meir Kahane

**/Chapter 10\**

**-Tit for Tat-**

"You _lied_ to me!"

Charles winced as Erik slammed the library door with a resonating bang that seemed to shake the entire room, whirling on the telepath the moment he had done so, blazing fury meeting calm passivity, which was only slightly forced.

"I did not."

"Lying by omission is still _lying_!"

"Would you have let me go through with it had I told you?"

"No! Of course not!"

"There you go, then."

"I don't trust her. She shouldn't be here."

"She's one of us."

"She's a puppeteer! She's only here because she thinks she can gain something from us."

"Funny. And I thought _I_ was the mind reader."

"Charles!"

"I couldn't leave her with the CIA."

"You didn't have to bring her _here_!"

"You said you'd follow my lead, Erik," the telepath reminded him pointedly. "Were _you_ lying?"

"Not when it's going to bloody well get you killed!"

"_Not_ doing anything put us _all_ in danger!" Finally losing his calm, Charles cut off Erik's continuing rant. He wasn't shouting, really, not in comparison to the other man, but it was a stronger tone than he usually took, and it silenced Erik long enough for him to get more than a few words in. "You _knew_ that something was wrong, Erik, you _agreed_ with me when I said it was odd that no public move had been made against mutants. Moira and Hank couldn't find a reason for it, but we both knew there _had_ to be a reason, and it was a reason we _needed _to know. I knew if I could convince Azazel to help us then he could transport me to the CIA Headquarters, and I needed Moira because she knew the layout of the facility."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me where you were going," Erik responded heatedly, his anger more restrained now, but still present in the vibrating air between them, the waves of fury pounding against Charles' mental shields in much the same way as they had done the day the pair of them had first met. "That doesn't explain why you felt the need for such secrecy. Why you felt the need to _lie._"

"Doesn't it?" Charles was not about to back down, not when he was so certain he had done the right thing here. He had considered telling Erik, he _had_, but, after what had happened in Cuba, he hadn't been able to trust his friend with this. "It was an in and out mission, Erik, could you have left it at that? Could you have walked away from all those men gathered in one place plotting ways to bring about our downfall? You fired upon ships filled with soldiers who didn't even know what they were firing at, what would you have done if you came face to face with those who _did_?"

"I wouldn't have walked away." Erik's response was cold, laced with an icy rage that was more terrifying than the heated wrath of a moment before. "_You_ shouldn't have walked away. You could have ended this then and there."

"And so you see, my friend, the dilemma you forced upon me," he answered the metal manipulator quietly, each word dropping like another weight upon his shoulders. "Don't you see yet, Erik? _Killing_ those men will accomplish nothing. The more lives we destroy the more dangerous the world will come to believe us. Others will rise to fill their places, others with less and less tolerance with each succession. Death is not the answer to everything."

"_Fine_," he spat the word with enough venom that Charles had to restrain himself from flinching, meeting the flint-like gaze his friend now bestowed upon him as levelly as he could, determined not to be drawn in by that anger. "But that still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me where you were going, or why Emma Frost is here."

"It does. You just haven't been listening," Charles sighed. "The reason no move has yet been made against mutants is because they are preparing themselves first, seeking to develop weapons that can restrict our powers, and take away any advantage we might have. Emma was the only mutant they had in custody. A _telepath_, Erik. They could have used her to develop defenses against others like her, like _me_. They could and _would_ have used her against us. We are safer with her here."

That, at least, seemed to silence the other mutant momentarily, and Charles took the opportunity to inhale deeply, waiting to see if this was a battle he would win, or whether Erik was going to prove him wrong once again. It was true that Erik had all but given his word to follow Charles' example, but promises were easily forgotten in the heat of battle, and he needed his friend to understand, to fully _think_ about the consequences of his actions before he hastened to destroy further lives, both human _and _mutant. He did not blame Erik for possessing those instincts, for he knew full well the life that had given birth to them, but those same inclinations that had kept him alive all this time were liable to get him killed now.

Him, and others.

So, though he hated having to press his point in this way, hated the deception that had led them to this, he knew with equal intensity that they _needed _this. If they ever hoped to rebuild the trust that had once existed between them, they first had to batter down the obstacles of the past, and he could think of no other way to do it but to force the issue.

"No," Erik said at last, breaking the stillness, his face devoid of all expression, unknowingly revealing everything. "That's not good enough. You never _intended_ to leave her there, Charles. You _knew_ you were going to break her out, and you knew I'd prevent you from doing it. Or, at the very least, prevent you from bringing her _here_. _That's_ why you didn't tell me. It had nothing to do with those men, or whether or not I killed them."

"I'm not going to deny it was part of the reason," Charles nodded, his voice low as he proceeded, ready to deliver the final blow. "I did not tell you because I knew you would stop me, just as you did the same when you placed that helmet upon your head in Cuba. It hurts to be shut out, doesn't it, my friend?"

"I…" The color drained from Erik's face, and he faltered suddenly, recognizing too late the trap he had walked into. Charles gave him a moment, allowing the realization to sink in as utterly as it could, before speaking again.

"There is a war coming," he stated softly. "A war I am not at all certain we have any chance of winning. To fight such a fight as we must, we need to be strong, we need to stand by one another, and we need to be _lenient_ with our enemies, because only through inspiring sympathy from the other side are we ever going to be able to survive this. I know it is not what you are used to, I _know_ trusting does not come easily to you, but I _need_ you to trust me, Erik, and I need you to know that if I stop you from doing something it is not because our morals clash, or our beliefs, but because I honestly don't think any good will come of it.

"I can't say with any certainty what I would have done had you not shut me out back in Cuba. Maybe I would have stopped you from killing Shaw, or maybe I would have merely stopped you from doing it as you did, but it's in the past and I can't change that now. What matters is the future, and whether or not I can rely upon you to let me guide you, and to guide _me_ should I need it. These people?" He gestured at the door behind Erik, the one leading back to their friends, their former enemies, and everything in between. "They are _relying_ on us, and if we stand divided as we did in Cuba, as we do now, we are _going_ to let them down."

Erik studied him then, searching eyes drifting back and forth across his face, seeking something, though Charles could not have said what without actively reading Erik's mind, and he refused to do that. In fact, at the moment, he was doing his best to block out even the surface thoughts, putting his trust implicitly in his friend, confident Erik would not lie to him.

"What are you asking of me, Charles?" The question was soft, the voice of the other mutant somewhat resigned, with a strange note to it he could not have defined.

"I'm asking that you be willing to compromise," he explained simply. "That you be willing to have mercy if the situation calls for it. To have some _faith_."

"And in return?"

"In return..." he exhaled slowly, the next words that needed to be said harder to utter than he could have ever imagined. "In return, if it comes down to the line, and you truly and honestly believe beyond all doubt that lives must be taken, I will not stop you."

"Do you have it within you to allow that?" The words were an echo of the past that shot through his mind like a star searing across the nighttime sky, the flicker of pain that rippled through his thoughts a reminder of the end to which they had last referred. It was different this time, though. It _had_ to be different, for both of them.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "If it comes to it in the end, though, I doubt I shall have a choice."

"And if I say Emma Frost has to die?" _That_ was a test, and, with a weary smile, Charles answered him with steady certainty.

"She doesn't. She can't harm any of you. I've seen to that."

"Seen to it how, exactly?" Suspicion was shining in Erik's eyes now, and Charles withheld a sigh at the sight, repeating the mantra of 'old habits die hard' over and over in his mind to curb his frustration at not yet having destroyed that particular penchant.

"You are all shielded from her touch," he explained. "It's not a perfect skill yet, and I'm going to need a lot more practice if I'm to do it on a regular basis, but I can build mental defenses against telepathic invasions in the minds of others. I tested it with Moira. Frost couldn't read her mind."

"Mental defenses…" He was being eyed warily now. "I told you to stay out of my head."

"I wasn't inside it." That was the truth…mostly. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but defenses are usually built _around_ things."

"And you didn't tell me about this why, exactly?"

"I wasn't sure if it would work," Charles shrugged, choosing not to mention that at the time he had first thought of and attempted to apply the theory his skills had hardly been at their best. Much of the original foundations he had created had needed to be heavily reinforced once the backlash effect began to wear off, and, even now, he wasn't certain it was foolproof. "And it still might not, against a telepath stronger than I am. It only works against her because _she_ isn't."

"So she can't access our minds at all?"

"She can still speak with you the same way I do, but your thoughts are safe, as are any memories you don't want her to know. The mind actually possesses natural defenses against any form of invasion. Raven's are incredibly strong, simply because she consciously _tries_ to keep her thoughts to herself, and she could probably hold out against a telepath for quite some time without revealing anything. It's simply a matter of deflection by avoiding any thoughts you want them to know and showing them things that don't matter, but it takes practice to control your mind like that, and we didn't have the time. What I've done is more of a block than a deflection, but it achieves the same result."

"You should have Raven teach the others how to deflect." Erik had relaxed now, the suspicion and wariness both having drained away, the fury of before long gone, leaving a hollow void Charles wasn't certain had yet been filled in its place. "It is a skill they may need in the future."

"Against the enemy, or me?" he asked with mild amusement, earning a sharp look in response.

"Both, Charles. We need to be prepared for anything." He paused, then, with obvious reluctance, pressed onwards, "You really meant what you said before, didn't you?"

"About letting you kill if it really becomes necessary?" He barely suppressed a shudder, still chilled by the thought, but by now resigned to its necessity. He had had three days to consider this. Three days to twist his mind and heart and morals and try to find a way around it, only to realize there wasn't one. Either they _both _bent, or they would break, and the latter was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. "Yes, Erik, I was completely serious, on both counts."

"Then let me ask you a question, first." The look he was receiving now set his skin crawling, and, with his nerves on edge, he gave a bare nod of permission. "If I was to kill any of those four out there." The words were spoken slowly, deliberately. "Or _all_ of them, would you feel it?"

"I don't know." His mouth was suddenly dry, memories of Cuba scrabbling for his attention, and the faint echoes of remembered pain bouncing about inside his head. It was with a supreme effort that he kept himself still, restraining the tremors that threatened to shatter his resolve, and answering with every ounce of conviction he could muster. "It would depend upon the situation, how strong my defenses were at the time, and how strongly they projected their pain, the degree of which would depend on the manner of their death. There are some things I can't block out completely, even when my shields are at full strength, and death is one of them. Usually I can prevent sensations from reaching me, even their thoughts, but I can't ignore an active mind being extinguished."

Erik nodded, accepting his answer, mulling it over, before forming his response. "Can you show me?"

"_What_?" he faltered, thrown off balance by the unexpected request, all the more so because of the voice screaming in the back of his mind in horror, shouting a litany of denials and refusals, none of which reached the other man.

"You've been inside my head, Charles. Inside my memories." Erik's voice was smooth, calm, a far cry from the panic Charles himself was barely restraining, their roles reversed in a way that might have been amusing under any other circumstances. "You know, better than anyone else who hasn't experienced what I have, what it's like to live in my world, otherwise you never would have offered this," he paused, but only briefly, before speaking with such utter certainty there could be no doubt as to his sincerity. "I want to know what it is like to live in _yours_."

_No. No, this wasn't…He couldn't live through _that_…not again._

But even as the thoughts formed they dissipated, fading away beneath the weight of terror now settling over his mind. He _couldn't_ refuse this request, because Erik was _right_. Charles _had_ seen his world, seen it in stark detail, unfolding before him like some twisted film, and _he_ had not asked. It was only fair Erik be allowed the same insight, the same window of understanding, and, yet, he could not have asked him for anything that was harder to give.

"Charles?"

He had hesitated too long, and the look Erik was giving him now was somewhere between concern and disappointment. _He_ had lived through his own memories, Charles reminded himself forcefully, trying to steel his wavering resolve, was it really so hard to share with him what it had been like experiencing a few moments of someone else's life? It would _hurt_, yes, but if this would fix everything, if it would put their relationship back to the brotherhood it had been before Cuba, then wasn't a little pain worth it?

Inhaling deeply, he forced himself to meet his friend's gaze squarely, swallowing his fears and his doubts, and shoving the last brick into the wall of his own resolution. He had come this far, he had reached the crossroads, and he wasn't going to be turned back because of fear or pain that wasn't even his own. There were people who needed him, people who needed them both, so, forcing all traces of uncertainty into the corner of his mind, where all unwanted thoughts, emotions, and memories were stowed, he smothered every last vestige of fear, and drove his voice to remain steady.

"You will want to sit down for this."

**1st Class**

The air in the study was…tense, to say the least, and it was all Raven could do to stop herself from fidgeting in place, only the knowledge that it would probably amuse the ice queen sitting across from her holding her back. She had _agreed_ to this, or most of it, to _bringing _three of Shaw's followers here, one of whom had once been on _their _side, a fact Angel seemed acutely aware of, if the ducked head and shameful glances were any indication. Raven had _agreed_ to it all, but, confronted now with the actuality of the three of them, _and_ Shaw's telepath, all standing here inside the house that was _theirs_ she was beginning to have serious second thoughts, and she was quite certain she was not the only one.

It would have been better had Charles been here to ease the transition along, but he had barely had time to fling the foursome at Alex and Hank before Erik had dragged him off to the library, something none of the mansion's original occupants were exactly ecstatic about. Erik had been furious, and, whilst none of them were really capable of calming him down, they had all seen the results of the last time he and Charles had confronted one another with the former in a rage.

Standing a little way off to her right, Hank was visibly twitching, his eyes moving to the door just a little too often, though he snapped them back each time he became aware of what he was doing. Alex wasn't much better, shifting his weight from leg to leg, though he never took his eyes off their 'guests', glare growing darker by the minute, due, for the most part, to the grin that Azazel had yet to cease pointing in his direction. It was such obvious antagonizing that she almost wanted to slap Alex for falling for it, but that would hardly strengthen the picture of unity they were trying to paint.

Sean had planted himself behind the foursome, his eyes tracking back and forth across the line up, never lingering long on one. Out of all of them, he was perhaps the most restrained in his reaction, second only to Moira, who had the advantage on all of them, seated calmly, her hands folded in her lap, and an air of tranquil patience emanating from her person. _She_ already knew everything that had occurred, everything that Charles was likely explaining to Erik this very minute, and, right at that moment, Raven nearly hated her for it.

"If you're so worried about your precious telepath, why don't you go make sure he's still alive?" Emma Frost's cool tone pierced through the silence like a spear, drawing all eyes to her at once, over half of them in anger. "Or do you think the four of us are going to flee the moment you let us out of your sight?" When none of them replied, she gave a coy smile, and continued without invitation. "It's not very reassuring, you know, to see how little faith you have in your leader. _He's_ the one that brought us here, after all, and yet you clearly don't think any of us should be here."

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, _Miss_ Frost." Alex was seething. "But that has _nothing_ to do with the Professor, and _everything_ to do with you."

"Professor, hm? Cute. Do you _all _have such becoming labels?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he huffed, folding his arms, apparently deciding he had said enough. Emma simply smiled, however, a gesture as cold as her last name.

"Oh, sugar, I couldn't care less!" There was laughter in her voice, but very little emotion behind it. "I'm here because your _Professor_ makes a convincing argument. It has nothing to do with you."

Alex bristled, but before Raven could intervene Hank stepped forward, the low growl of his voice adding a hint of intimidation that the old Hank would never have been able to achieve.

"Leave it, Alex."

For a moment the former inmate simply glared, before apparently throwing his anger off with a shrug, settling into a more relaxed stance of leaning against the wall. Hank, meanwhile, turned back to the other four, keeping his tone carefully neutral as he spoke.

"We can wait here until the Professor is done, or I can show you to your rooms."

"You trying to get rid of us, honey?" Emma was the only one to offer a verbal response, rising to her feet with enough grace to make Raven prickle with jealousy, until she realized what she was doing, and hastily stamped the emotion down. "Oh, well, I guess the reasons don't really matter if the end result is favorable for both parties." Casting a glance over her shoulder at the other three, she added, "You coming?"

Exchanging brief looks, the trio seemed to come to some sort of decision, trailing out behind Hank and the irrepressible Emma, and leaving the remaining three, Alex not willing to let Hank escort their 'guests' alone, free to converse without fear of being overheard.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Raven directed the question at Moira, who momentarily looked like a deer caught in the headlights. To give her her due, she swiftly regained her composure, answering as smoothly as possible.

"Charles decided it was dangerous leaving her in the hands of the CIA. It's why he took me with him."

"You guys broke into the _CIA_?" Sean's eyes widened dramatically, his mouth falling open to match, and Raven herself had to conceal her surprise. _Of course they broke into the CIA, you fool, how else would they get Emma Frost?_

"Yes," Moira nodded. "Azazel transported us there, and Charles froze everyone like he did back when we were going after Shaw." Raven nodded, remembering, whilst Sean simply looked lost. "We found the holding cell where they were keeping Miss Frost, and I waited outside whilst he talked to her. I don't know what he told her, but he convinced her to help us, and she told us what the CIA had been doing instead of actively hunting us down."

"You mean they _are_ doing something?" Raven felt the sliver of fear she had been trying to ignore up until now growing stronger with each passing second, and bit down on her lip, trying to hide it.

"According to Miss Frost, they are researching weapons to use against us," Moira nodded, looking as worried as Raven felt. "Frost is a telepath, so is Charles, and, besides Erik, he's really the greatest threat the CIA are aware of at the moment."

"But they don't know where we are." Raven pounced on that faint and dying hope with the desperation of a drowning woman. "Do they?"

"No. They don't even know our names now, _any_ of our names." Moira looked slightly shell-shocked now, as if she couldn't believe the words she was saying. "Charles and Emma wiped their minds. _All_ of their minds. Nobody will remember any of you by your looks, voices, or names, and they won't remember an Agent McTaggert either."

"They can _do _that?" Sean sounded stunned, and Raven took it upon herself to answer, seeing as Moira still looked unbalanced herself.

"They can," she nodded. "Though Charles rarely does. He doesn't like playing with people's minds unless he absolutely has to. He had to cover for me a few times when we were younger and I lost control of my shifting in public, and he always hated it."

"I'll bet _she_ doesn't have the same compunctions," the younger mutant stated darkly, which earned him a curious look from Moira. Raven simply sighed, leaning back in her chair as she answered him.

"That's the problem, you know," she stated quietly. "For every mutant like Charles, there's at least one like Emma Frost to conform to their expectations of us, and to _prove_ we deserve whatever they deal out to us."

"Well, then." Hank and Alex had returned to the room just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation, and it was Alex who found the right words with which to respond. "We'll just have to prove them wrong."

**1st Class**

**AN: One more chapter to go, and then Act I is all finished. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **So, here we go, the final chapter of Act I. As always, a huge thank you goes out to all reviewers, (Flo des bois, Chocolate Shadow, Niralle, plexi24, Adrian Nox, medi22, and dirtygirl42, with especial gratitude to both Niralle and medi22, who took the time to encourage me through PMs) as well as the 30+ people who put alerts on this story and my profile. Your participation and feedback is greatly appreciated.

I had some internal debates about ending this Act where I did, but, in the end, I felt this chapter brought the whole piece full circle, and that it needed to end here if I was going to get a clean start for the next Act. That said, I cheated a bit with this chapter (you'll see what I mean when you read it) in order to achieve that 'full-circle' affect. Oh, and this one also has my favorite quote!

**Quote: **"Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors."

― Andrew Boyd

**/Chapter 11\**

**-Find a Home and Hold It-**

It was beyond strange, Erik thought absently, wandering through the memories of someone else, seeing their life play out around you in bits and pieces that flashed by, offering you a glimpse, but not really showing you anything. These were, after all, the pieces that had formed the character of the man who, right now, in the world outside their connected minds, was seated directly opposite him, one hand pressed to his own temple, the other to Erik's, connecting them with a physical touch as well as a mental.

But there was nothing for him to see here, because he was looking in the wrong place, and, reluctantly, for this had seemed a much better idea _before _it actually eventuated, he strode forward, moving past the early years that flickered and stuttered and showed him nothing, onward to the recent past.

The days where he first appeared in Charles' memories.

_It had taken mere seconds for the mission to go haywire, and now they were fleeing below deck, following on the heels of the Man in Black, though, inwardly, Charles couldn't help but wonder what good it would do them to be _below_ deck if the other mutant's twister capsized their vessel. The errant thought came and went swiftly, driven from his head by the sudden, stabbing pain that announced the presence of another mind. A mind twisted by fury, hatred, and agony, enough so that it brought him to an instant standstill, actual, _physical _pain causing him to cry out before he could reaffirm his shields enough to withstand the battering of such wild emotions._

It was the day they met, Erik realized, slightly taken aback by the abnormality of seeing his own emotions through the perspective of another. He hadn't exactly been taking the time to study his own psychological welfare when it occurred, already knowing what a messed up landscape his mental plane provided, but, seeing that maelstrom, and _knowing_ it came from within himself made him wonder why on earth Charles hadn't turned and run in the opposite direction.

The answer was simple, he realized soon afterwards; because Charles was Charles.

He knew what happened here regardless, and it was not what he wanted, what he _needed_ to see. He moved further on, drifting slower than before, watching as the memories, no longer flickering, passed him by. These were recollections he held within his own mind, from a slightly different perspective, a slightly different viewpoint, but still the same occasions. Some of them flashed before him, just a brief snippet of a larger impression, significant somehow, though he could not yet say why.

"_I'm sorry," he gripped Moira's arm, apologetic, but firm. "I can't leave him."_

Time skipped ahead, an elaborately furnished room, and a familiar maroon rug draped across the floor.

"_Erik?" Questioning, uncertain, as the metal of the bedframe wrapped around the diamond woman's throat. The other mutant was a telepath, but the spike of fear and pain still escaped her __mental blocks, dancing briefly along the edge of his own, before vanishing as she forced control again. The metal continued to tighten, and, though his voice remained soft, there was a hint of urgency behind it when he spoke again. "Erik, that's enough."_

_But the other mutant simply gave his head a sharp shake, eyes never wavering from their goal, a near fanatical light gleaming in their depths. Charles' found himself similarly held in place, though it was more due to mounting horror than the twisted elation that seemed to have possessed Erik. Even in her diamond form, the growing terror on the woman's face was easily visible, and the insistence in his voice grew to match it._

"_Erik, that's enough!"_

_The diamond throat cracked, and, abruptly, the spell was broken, the strange, fanatic light in the other man's eyes evaporating as he gave a slight nod, and finally released his hold. _

"_She's all yours." _

_And Charles was too relieved to wonder what might have happened had he not been there._

The images sped up again, flashing by in a bewildering series of colors and words, only some of which pierced the shroud that prevented him from reaching further into the telepath's mind.

"_There's so much more to you than you know."_

Hope, belief, and a faith Charles insisted was not misplaced.

"_We have it in us to be the better men."_

Cold, hard fear when the response came.

"_We already _are_." _

Smoke and wreckage. Sand. A beach.

"_Erik, there will be no turning back…!"_

Desperation, when a sudden void filled the space where Erik's mind had once been.

"_No." He was seeing through Shaw's eyes, the coin in Erik's hand, and the cold light of intent in his eyes. "Please, Erik, no."_

"_I'm going to count to three, and I'm going to move the coin." Erik opened his palm, and the circle of silver floated across the space between Shaw and the killer he was so very proud of creating. "One."_

_Charles moved through the aircraft, not even sure why, barely aware of Moira following him, his words a breathless plea his friend would most likely never hear. "_Please_, Erik."_

"_Two."_

_He breathed deeply, harshly, trying to brace himself. But how did one brace oneself for _this_?_

"_Three."_

_All thoughts fled from him, for there was no room left in his mind for anything but anguish._

Erik staggered back from the memory, feeling sick, and wondering if that was even possible when he was inside someone else's mind. He hadn't known. He _hadn't_ known. But that didn't stop the guilt from ramming into him with enough force to momentarily choke him. Because, dear god, he drove a _coin_ through his best friend's _head_. He didn't know. It was Shaw he was trying to kill, not Charles, but he couldn't quite banish the memory of that terrible, agonizing _pain_ far enough away to be able to pretend Charles had known the difference at the time. Because he _hadn't_. During those anguished seconds, that minute where all rational thought had been driven from the telepath's mind, he, _Erik_, had been _killing_ his friend.

He wanted to leave, to escape this nightmare, to turn around and flee whilst he still had a chance. But...but such cowardice was not fair to Charles, who had already borne so much for Erik's sake. He owed it to the other man to finish what he had started, to make sure something good came of all this suffering, and so it was with a sense of dread heavier than any physical weight could possibly form that he turned to the last opening in the fog, and swiftly found himself enveloped.

"No!" _Even as he raced forward, throwing himself at Erik out of sheer desperation, he knew this was a confrontation he had no hope of winning. The man he was tackling to the ground was a trained killer, who did not rely on his powers alone to carry out the deed, whilst he himself was a scholar, lacking both the strength and the training he would have needed to come out of this tussle the victor. But he didn't_ need_ to win. If he could just_ distract _Erik for long enough those missiles would never survive to cause the damage they threatened to. Surprise was on his side for a moment only, as his hands groped for the helmet, knowing if he could only get rid of _that _he might still be able to avert this calamity._

"_I don't want to hurt you!" The elbow that caught him in the side of the head belied that statement, and he fell back against the sand with a stunned cry, well aware of the snarl in Erik's voice as he moved to pin Charles in place with a hand about the telepath's throat. "Don't make me!"_

_He_ felt _more than saw the others move forward to intervene, heard the unbridled rage in Erik's __barked command to 'Stay back!' as he raised a hand, hurling all but Raven away, out of reach, exacerbating wounds that already existed. But Charles did not have time to feel concern for any of them, his hands still fumbling for that blinding helmet, trying to gain a purchase despite the long fingers coming just short of strangling him._

"_No! That's_ enough!" _But Erik merely raised his other hand, forcing the faltering missiles back onto their unwavering course, a course that inevitably led to destruction, the decimation of all his hopes and dreams in a single instant. "Erik, stop!"_

_Unable to reach his original target, he moved both hands lower, thrusting against the arm holding him in place, and feeling a single moment of exhilarating triumph when Erik lost his hold. The other mutant didn't miss a beat, however, merely drawing his hand back and delivering a vicious punch that snapped Charles' head to the side and made his vision waver and warp, black spots clouding his eyesight. And then Erik was standing, rising, moving away from him to ensure the projectiles reached their goal. He sensed Moira emerging from the plane's hollow remains, willed her not to try the half formed idea in her mind, knowing she would do so anyway, and knowing, just as surely, that it wouldn't stop Erik._

_He rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up on shaking arms, hoping, more than believing, he would be able to keep his footing once he was standing. He heard the first muted shot from __Moira's hand gun, and a moment later saw the object whipping out of her hands and flying out __of reach, Erik barely flinching in his single minded focus._

"_Stop, Erik!_ Please…"

_Staggering upright, one hand outstretched towards his friend, Charles turned, hoping enough of the missiles had detonated during his and Erik's struggle to at least save_ some_ lives, and knowing, even before his eyes were seared by the image of the roaring inferno, that that hope was groundless. The sea before him was becoming the stage for the most destructive act he had ever seen perpetrated by a single man, and he couldn't do anything but_ watch. _Time froze. He drew in a ragged breath, felt the last of his fragile hope drain away with the tide._

_And then the pain struck._

_Ruthless in its intensity, boundless in its immensity, it tore its way savagely through his mind without remorse, breaking down the fragile barriers he was only barely holding in place to begin with. Forming a crescendo of wailing voices the thoughts and emotions came, belonging to hundreds, to_ thousands, _and he was without the means to ward them off, robbed of the ability to halt the onslaught the moment it began. _

_The strangled cry that wormed its way free of his constricted throat was both his own and not, for, whilst a small portion of the sheer agony reverberating through both his mind and body was his, the majority of it was not, and he was overwhelmed by the sheer_ volume _of pain. Shock. Fear. He could no more differentiate the emotions from one another than he could separate the last thoughts of the dying from his own, and he was scarcely aware of his knees folding beneath him as his hands lifted to cradle his head, hoping the physical movement could achieve what the mental will could not._

_Time unfroze, but it was not moving as swiftly as before, a single moment dragged out across eternity, and, whilst it lasted, the pain stayed, clinging to his side like a shadow, and worming its way past every last defense he had. His head had been aching before this, already echoing the __torment of another's mind, but the pulsing,_ living _thing that had taken up residence in his skull now was so much worse it was a wonder he was not screaming himself hoarse. Or maybe pain had made him mute? It was an errant thought, and swiftly forgotten as another tremor wracked his body, his limbs twitching spasmodically, receptive nerves mimicking the gestures of dying men as his brain transmitted messages it had not made itself._

_Someone touched him, a hand grasping his shoulder that he could barely feel, a worried, familiar face joining the blur before his eyes, but he could no more react to the sudden presence nearby than he could tune out the resonating remains of those so far away, separated in body by so much water, but close enough in mind that they may as well have been standing side by side. _

_Someone spoke, the concern and worry in their,_ her, Moira's _words transmitted through the air __as emotions to add to the barrage already battering against his last vestiges of control. She was_ scared, _he recognized the fact distantly, and he thought the panicked, anxious query may have revolved around him, but his mind was still too busy trying to react to the rush of external stimuli to try taking in any words. Raven responded for him anyway, muttering something about telepaths, as if that explained everything and anything that was in doubt. And maybe it did._

_He was too lost in his own distress to really know one way or another. _

_Ignoring, for the moment, the hands now resting on either side of his face, and the pleading voice __trying to awaken a reaction from him, he let his consciousness drift, retreating back within his head, back into a realm of pain, terror, and a lingering sense of betrayal he wasn't quite yet certain should be there. What had brought him here no longer mattered, he merely needed to find a way to escape, and that meant sifting through all these emotions, the feelings that were still bombarding him, even though the source of their existence was most likely long gone, in the hopes of finding himself among the wreckage that was all that remained of others._

Erik bolted out of his chair the moment the contact ceased, groping blindly as he stumbled, hand finding a hold on the mantelpiece as he gasped for breath, his head swimming, eyes blurred with tears, and his whole body trembling from the sheer enormity of what he had just witnessed. God, what he had _felt_! Dimly he became aware of the rattling sound in the room, every last piece of metal shuddering in time with his thundering heart, his emotions whirling about him, wildly out of control, and his powers following the same trend.

"_Calm your mind_." The words echoed, soft and unchanging, steadying, and it took him a horrifying moment too long to realize who was steadying whom.

_Charles_.

Reasserting his control with the brutality need had taught him, he spun about to face his friend, and found himself staring into the haunted eyes of a pale ghost. Charles looked as wraithlike as he had three days ago, his hands trembling where they sat, clenched in his lap, loose strands of dark hair plastered to the sweat that had formed on his brow. Erik opened his mouth, wanting, _needing_ to say something, but what could he say? How did you apologize for making someone _live_ through _that_? And Charles was telling _him_ to calm his mind?

"Charles, I…" he floundered, blurting what first came to mind. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked for that."

"It was only fair." The telepath merely gave a subdued shrug, his voice soft and hoarse.

"_No_," he shook his head, the gesture almost frantic. "No, it wasn't. _Dammit_, Charles, I didn't have to relive my memories for you to see them!"

"You needed to know."

He didn't. He _didn't_ need to know. He didn't _want_ to know. But it was too late to go back now, and slowly, hesitantly almost, he paced back across the room, lowering himself into the chair, and staring at the other man intently. "Are you all right?"

"I honestly don't know." Charles' smile was a cracked, broken thing, and now Erik knew why. "I've been trying to forget that for three days," he sighed, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "But I can't. I _can't_ forget. Bloody eidetic memory!"

"It wouldn't matter if you didn't have it, Charles." He found himself speaking before he was aware he had opened his mouth, the words streaming forth from experience. "Your mind either recalls the bad things in vivid detail, or it forgets them completely until its ready to deal with them. Unfortunately, there's no middle ground."

Charles drew in a shaky breath, scrubbing his hands across his face and pushing his hair back out of his eyes, clearly trying, and _failing_, to regain some measure of composure. He smiled weakly, then, a desperate note undermining the lightness he tried to achieve. "Did you find the answers to your questions?"

"I did." And how dearly now did he wish he had never even asked? He had made the telepath experience both events _twice _now, the coin and what had followed. He was going to have nightmares about this for days, if not weeks, and _his_ was only a second hand experience. He could only imagine what Charles had been going through since Cuba. What he had been _hiding_ from them, ensuring _they_ were protected. "I'm sorry, Charles. I never…I didn't…"

Charles merely gave an offhand wave, his voice soft, and steady again. "It doesn't matter now, my friend."

_Except it does_. Erik frowned, wishing, this once, that Charles _would_ read his thoughts. _How long is this going to haunt you because of me_? _How many nights are you going to lie awake because you're too scared to fall asleep_? Aloud, he merely said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm glad to hear it." The upward twitch of his lips was more genuine this time, even if it was heavily tinged with exhaustion, only slightly tempered by the stark relief shining in his eyes. Heaving himself to his feet, Charles swayed briefly, regaining his balance with an effort.

"I am going to speak with the others," he announced, effectively closing the current subject of the conversation, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to restore order. "And then I am going to bed."

He hesitated then, and Erik waited, still reeling, still shaking, but, for the first time since he had delivered that killing blow to the man who had overshadowed his entire life, finally _certain_ of his role, of where he _needed_ to be. He _belonged_ here, in this place, where the light of his counterpart could purge the darkness of his soul, and prevent the anger still lurking in his heart from destroying him, along with everything else he touched. Where he could protect that light from burning itself with its own brightness, too blinded to know when it should dim.

He wasn't a fool, and he knew the journey ahead of them would be hard, dangerous, and perhaps even deadly. He knew this wasn't a sanctuary. This wasn't the safe place he had dreamed of finding as a child. This wasn't that dream, but it was the closest he had ever come to finding serenity, and he would be damned if he let that slip through his grasp. He had allowed Shaw to rule over his life for too long, gaining so little from that lifelong quest.

It was not a mistake he would make again.

Instead, he gazed up at his friend, reading the uncertainty there, the hesitance to leave, the telepath still not quite believing he had meant it when he had said he would stay. Smiling genuinely, he tilted his head towards the door, his words light and laced with the gratitude he honestly felt.

"Get some rest, Charles, you need it. I'll talk to the others."

He paused, watching as that lingering doubt faded away, the other mutant giving a slow nod of acknowledgement, recognizing his words for the masked reassurances they were. _I'm not going anywhere, and _you're _not alone in this._ He could have left it at that, enough had been said, but, in the end, he couldn't resist adding one more line.

"We have mutants to hunt on the morrow."

TBC

**AN/2-For those who are interested, this entire story can be downloaded as a PDF from my website, the address is under homepage on my profile.**

**Cheerio, **

**Cheekyrox.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **So I know I said the last chapter was the last one, and it was meant to be, but this little piece here wouldn't fit into its rightful place as first chapter of the next one, so I figured it would work just as well as an epilogue, and a little teaser trailer for those waiting for the second act. Also worth noting is that there are _no_ OCs in this chapter, all characters are canon, shamelessly adapted to my needs. I expect some of you will pick out who is who, but I did have some fun messing around with names. : D

P.S If anyone finds this confusing, don't worry too much. It's _meant_ to be ambiguous.

**Quote: **"Always watch the sleeping dogs, they're liable to bite when you're not looking."-A. N

**/Epilogue\**

**-Why Do The Children Weep?-**

1/03/1963-4 Months After Cuba

Xavier Estate-Westchester, New York

"Why...are we here?"

The question floated out across the crisp, predawn air, hanging there, gliding on weighted wings, waiting for its partner, an answer, to join it. The boy who had uttered it was stretched out on his stomach on the damp, dew laden grass, his body sandwiched in between two others, but the warmth that might have been provided by their closeness rendered useless by the chill of the twilight hours. His two companions were older, one a girl, the other a boy, both a mere seventeen months his senior, give or take a few days, and both utterly still in a way the younger child found frightening.

"We were asked to come here," the elder lad answered him curtly, the black of his eyes emphasized by the pale skin of his face, standing out in stark contrast beneath a mop of smooth, dark hair. "That's all we need to know."

"Phoenix?" Plaintive, the youngest turned to the girl, hoping for an answer, though most of his peers feared even approaching this one. Phoenix was a terrifying enigma, and only he, the youngest among them, dared approach her under anything less than duress. "Please, I don't understand."

"I need to see him."

"But this place is a _school_." He still did not understand, and the glares of the older boy would not stop him from asking. "Why would Mr. S think there was a killer hiding here?"

"Dangerous people are only dangerous if they know how to hide." Phoenix' response was flat, completely without emotion, as everything with this young woman was. Others might have been chilled by the fact, but her two companions had had plenty of time to adjust. "And this place is not just a school. There is an illusion in place here, a powerful one, but I see through it."

"Why don't you show us, then?" snapped the elder boy, slanted eyes narrowing further until they were nothing but slits.

"The one casting it is powerful, Orez," she responded tonelessly. "If I push too hard, we risk alerting him to our presence."

"See, but don't be seen," quoting back their mission, the dark haired youth nodded slowly. "Alright, Phoenix, but how are we to find him if we can't get by this illusion?"

"The one we seek is leaving soon," she answered immediately, her gaze distant, hands flexing at her sides. "He goes to find a safe place."

"He wasn't supposed to leave." Disconcerted, Orez frowned, "Will this still work?"

"I can touch a mind no matter where it is," Phoenix answer him placidly. "He is not safe from me." Turning back to him, she frowned, adding a second statement, "Should you not hasten back? If you are missing for too long, your absence will be noted."

"I don't like to leave you two alone." Frowning, the youth threw the youngest of the trio a pointed glance. "Not until the job is done."

"He is thinking of you right now," the girl informed him. "He is suspicious, and he will only grow more so if you remain absent for much longer. A suspicious mind is difficult to enter, Orez. You have your job, I have mine, both of us know the price of failure, and the value of success. You do not need to remind me."

"Just don't forget that." This time, the nod towards the younger boy was barely perceptible, but he saw it nonetheless. "We all have things we care about that can be taken away, Phoenix, even you."

"You underestimate me, Orez." The suddenly volatile air between the pair was not missed by their third member, and he crept as far back from them as he could, still squished between them as he was.

"And _you_ underestimate Mr. S," Orez retorted instantly. "Just because he isn't one of us doesn't make him weak."

"He would be, if you did not insist on serving as his lap dog."

"It is called wisdom, Phoenix. I know how to pick the winners from the losers."

"You know nothing, Orez," she told him lifelessly. "But I shall not enlighten you. Go, we have no more need of you here."

Orez went without argument, even though he looked much like he wished otherwise, he held too great a sense of loyalty to the one they served to argue. As his form disappeared into the shroud of the early morning fog, the boy turned to Phoenix a second time, his voice still desperately seeking reassurances that did not exist.

"Phoenix, why are we here?"

_A man lingered in the shadows of the room, his face invisible, though any one of his 'children' would have recognized him by his voice alone. It was a noise that perpetrated the stillness, filling it, and leaving no room for anything else._

"To transform the defender into the destroyer, Rem." When her reply came, it was darkened by a cold sense of fury he did not understand, and was not sure he _wanted_ to. "And, in doing so, to rob our kin of their last hope."

"_Find the one named Erik Lensherr."_

"Why?" He did not understand, even with the memory that was not his own reverberating around in his head, but, when her eyes turned to encompass him in their cold gaze, he did not need her words to finally comprehend their reasons for being here.

"_Enter his mind."_

"Because we don't have a choice."

"_Destroy it."_

**END**


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